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TRANSLATED    FROM 
BY 
ii-RB     J      8ADLIER 


NEW    EDITION 
RRTISKD    A.MD    CO»K«CT«l». 


P.  J.  KENEDY, 
ExcF.t-sioK  Catholic  PibUMiiNG  Uvv^k, 

5    I'.AKCLAY   StKKET, 
IQO4. 


,1 


V 


l 


eibU  •(  CtntmU. 

CHAPTER  I 
Benjamin*!  Birlh— Kirst  misfurtvDM, 

CHAPTER  U. 
■f  h«  Spoilwl  ChilJ,     -        .        •        ■ 

CHAPTER  III. 
Idl«D«M  and  Gluttony, 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Tba  Choice  of  a  School,      • 

CHAPTER  V 
The  Chrinlian  SoUool,    • 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Brother  Angelus, 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Conrereion,    .        -        - 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Grammar  LeMou, 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Prejudice  Orercome, 

CHAPTER  X. 
Ocoertxae  Devotion,    • 

CHAPTER  XI. 
TU  Sick  Stranner, 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Unlooked-for  Discovery,    - 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Airentares  of  Louie  Milon,  - 

CHAPTER  XIV 
Ceaclosioa,       .        .        .        • 


U 


as 

71 
•t 

ill 
IM 

i4to 
IM 

ltd 

ft04 
»9 


r 


4  FEW  WOllDS  mOM  THE  TRAKiLATCl. 

At  the  preMoi  moment  wheD  the  whoU 
Oatbolio  world  U  Rwaking  to  the  vital 
faBportanoe  of  Mcaring  a  religious  edTM» 
tkra  for  tbo  rininj  generatioti,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  this  little  worV  might  do  % 
great  deal  of  good,  and  T  have  haatily 
thrown  it  into  an  Eagliah  form  for  th« 
benefit  of  our  own  people,  both  parenta 
and  chikireD.    Let  both  read,  the  child- 
MB  !br  amusement  and  the  parenta  fct 
imtnietion,  and  let  the  latter  reflect  <m 
the  contents  of  this  simple  volume,— th#f 
will  find  it  a  most  U3eful  lesson. 

It  is  with  inexpressible  joy  that  T  IM 
the  schools  of  the  Chriitaa  Brothen 
spreading  from  town  to  town  and  fiom 
dtv  to  city  throughout  the  length  and 


^^w 


rv  vr  AO  K. 


breadth  of  Cliristendom.     Nation  aft«i 
nation  is  opening  her  arms  to  invite  their 
approach,  and  wherever  they  go,  they 
bring  with  them  true  feith,  hnmble,  fer- 
vent piety,  and  Uie  purest  of  all  moraUty. 
These  are  the  leeaons  they  every  where 
taculcate,  and  our  Benjamin  is  but  one 
ioBtanoe  of  the  benign  effecta  of  their 
teachhigs.    The  day  has  at  length  come, 
when  Catholic  parents  have  no  longer  an 
excuse  for  sending  their  children  to  *  God- 
laM*  ichoola — ^they  all  have  the  means 
of  having   sound   religious  uostroctioo 
blended  vrilli  their  children's  secular  learn- 
ing, and  wo  be  to  them  if  they  avail 
themselvea  not  of  the  advantages  placed 
by  Providence  at  their  disposal 


Vol 


M.  A.  Saduer. 


ro    «■& 


Sdp  rf  t^  €)fMn  St^li. 


It  is  to  you,  my  cbildren,  ihat 
this  little  book  should  be  dedicated, 
since  for  you  it  was  composed,  with 
the  sole  intention  of  being  useful  to 
you,  of  contributing  to  your  edifica- 
tion, and  to  your  sanctification, 
to  make  yon  love  the  duties  of  your 
gtate,  and  the  excellent  masters  from 
whom  you  learn  them. 

You  see,  my  young  friends,  that 
ifGo.1  seconds  myefl'orts,  and  deigns 


10 


IHlRODrOTIOH. 


to  bless  my  v?ork,  the  little  present 
which  I  now  make  you,  may  be- 
come very  precious  indeed.  Thii 
hope  is  my  encouragement;  and  if 
I  attain  my  end,  I  shall  be  well  re- 
warded. 

Permit  me  now   lo  explain  the 
object  which  I  have  in  view,  so  that 
you  may  the  better  understand  its 
importance,  and  how  nearly  it  con- 
cerns yourselves.     I  have  tried   to 
set  before  you  in  Benjamin,  an  ex- 
ample easy  to  imitate,  since  he  is 
of  your  own  age  and  of  your  own 
condition.    You  will  see,  my  chU- 
dren,  that  to  become  good  is  not  90 
difficult  as  you  woum  suppose,  pro- 
vided you  set  about  it  in  earnest. 
God  demands  ot  us  no  impoasibiU 
ities;    he  desires    that  we    should 
form  ourselves  after  his  own  heart 
and  accordinff  to  his  law,  und  weak 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


as  we  are,  we  can  with  ease  attain 
the  summit  of  human  perfection. 
By  reading  this  book,  you  will  be 
convinced,  that  there  is  nothing  so 
easy  as  to  overcome  bad  habits; 
nothing  so  easy  as  to  advance  in  vir- 
tue,  if  you  are  only  so  inclined. 

May  you  take  that  resolution,  as 
Benjamin  did  I  He  was  as  you  are, 
perhaps  even  worse,  when  placed 
under  the  care  of  the  Brothers.  He 
lieard  their  pious  and  instructive 
lessons ;  he  followed  their  wise  and 
virtuous  counsels ;  he  began  to  cor- 
respond with  grace,  and  grace  soon 
sanctified  hiin. 

And  you,  my  dear  young  friends, 
who  have  teachers  as  holy,  as  zeal- 
ous, as  learned  as  his  were;  you, 
who  constantly  receive  that  advice 
which  was  given  to  him  ;  you,  in  a 
word,  who  are  daib  called  and  solic- 


^-=J 


12 


IKTRODUOTIOV. 


itcd  by  the  grace  of  God ;  say,  hav6 


made 


sub- 


Y  attempt 
doe  your  evil  propensities,  to  obtain 
the  virtues  in  which  you  are  deficient, 
and  to  avail  yourselves  of  the  nu- 
merous blessings  which  Heaven  be- 
stows upon  you  %    Alas !  it  must  be 
confessed  that  few  amongst  you  have 
ever  yet  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
Oh !  surely  it  will  not  be  so,  for  the 
time  to  come,  and  you  will  make  a 
firm  resolution  to  become,  with  the 
assistance  of  God,  good  Christians, 
and  good  scholars. 

How  rejoiced  should  I  be,  if  my 
feeble  eflforts  were  one  day  crowned 
with  such  success,  and  how  ardently 
would  I  thank  Heaven  for  having 
made  me  the  instrument  of  so  much 
good.  Ah!  1  should  then  love 
children  more  than  even  now  I  do. 
Yes ;  nothing  would  be  more  agree- 


mmmmmmmmmm'mmim 


IKTRODtJOTXOH. 


IS 


able  to  me  than  to  see  virtue  and 
piety  adorn  the  young ;  and  it  is  al- 
ways  with  an  aching  heart  that  I 
turn  away  my  eyes  from  the  sight 
of  so  many  unhappy  children,  whoso 
evil  passions  and  unruly  conduct  de- 
Boie  precocious  corruption. 


!BiSIi!l^/a.ia!l[iJl 


CnAPTER   I. 

«!lt  aSirtl;  of  IStujamin.— /irri 
3ilisfnrtttUE3. 

It  is  a  great  blessing  to  be  bom 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic,  Apos- 
tolic, and  Roman  Church ;  a  favor 
BO  inestimable  that  it  is  of  itself  suf- 
ucient  to  excite  our  warmest  gratitude 
and  love.  It  is  also  an  incalculable 
advantage  to  belong  to  christian  pa- 
rents, and  to  imbibe  at  home,  as  well 
as  at  school,  those  principles  of  sound 
morality  which  attach  man  to  his 
duties  hero  below,  enable  him  to  bear 
the  troubles  of  this  life    with  thf* 


BBS  J  *  MIN 


1ft 


heroic  courage  of  virtue,  and  secure 
U)  him  the  respect  and  esteem  of 

his  equals. 

So  thought  Louis  Milon,  an  hum- 
ble  artisan,  having,  it  is  true,  little 
or  no  information,  yet  endowed  by 
nature  with  an  upright  and  intelh- 
aent  mind.  He  wj's  known  all  over 
his  native  town,  Saint  Bneuc  in 
Bret^ne,  for  a  good  and  conscien- 

tious  workman.  In  fact  h.s  honesty 
became  proverbial  throughout  the 
country.'  By  the  rich  he  was  confi- 
dentially  employed  in  his  trade  of 
carpenter,  and  the  poor  never  ap- 
pealed to  him  in  vain  for  any  assist- 
ance  in  his  power  to  bestow. 

Louis  Milon  had  been  long  mar- 
ried,  before  Heaven  crowned  his 
wishes  with  a  son.  This  evem  waa 
one  of  great  joy  both  to  Louis  and 
bis    wife,  the    good    and    virtuous 


16 


BE  N  J  A  M  I  27. 


Nicola,  anH  the  child  was  baptized 
by  the  name  of  Benjamin.  Both 
father  and  mother  well  understood 
bow  sacred  and  how  important  are 
the  duties  which  devolve  on  parents. 
They  did  not  imagine,  as  many  do 
Dow-a-days,  that  it  is  quite  enough 
to  get  their  child  admitted  into  the 
church  by  Baptism,  and  that  they 
need  never  trouble  themselves  any 
more  about  his  religious  instruction, 
but  just  let  him  live  and  grow  up  in 
a  spirit  entirely  opposed  to  that  of 
the  Church,  and  that  it  is  quite  time 
enough,  at  twelve  or  thirteen,  to  be- 
gin to  speak  to  him  of  God,  his  com- 
mandments and  his  religion.  The 
parents  of  Benjamin,  on  the  con- 
trary, justly  believed  that  the  time 
which  elapses  between  baptism  and 
the  first  communion  should  be  em- 
ployed to  plant  in  the  young  heart 


BESJ  AMIW 


17 


Kjntiments  of  faith,  love  of  God,  and 
respect  for  his  holy  religion.  In 
short,  it  is  especially  during  that  in- 
terval  that  the  most  sacred  duties  of 
parents  are  to  be  accomplished,  and 
those  obligations  discharged  which 
were  incurred  at  the  baptism  of  the 

child.  „     . 

The  first  words  that  Benjamin 

learned  to  speak  were  the  holy  names 

of  Jesus  and  of  Mary.    The  first 

sentence  that  he  articulated,  was  a 

prayer  to  the  Blessed  Trinity.    That 

prayer  he  had  learned  from  the  lips 

of  his  father ;  and   Nicola,  on  her 

part,  taught  him  a  little  prayer  to  his 

guardi  n  angel,  the  protector  of  his 

infancy.  ,  ,  ^/ 

Benjamin  had  attained  the  age  of 

four  years,  when  his  father  was  pre- 

vailed  upon  by  a  wealthy  shipowner 

of  his  own  town,  to  embark  as  nmt. 


18 


BENJAMIK. 


ter-carpenter  on  board  a  merchant 
vessel.  He  was  led  to  believe  that, 
after  a  few  long  voyages,  he  would 
be  in  a  condition  to  settle  down  com- 
fortably at  home,  and  to  secure  a 
competency  for  his  family.  Thif 
temptation  could  not  be  resisted  by 
a  good  father  and  husband,  whose 
chief  anxiety  was  to  place  his  wife 
and  son  beyond  the  reach  of  want. 
Tlie  dangers  which  he  might  have 
to  encounter  gave  him  but  little  con- 
cern ;  he  had  already  braved  them 
all,  for  in  early  life  he  had  been  first 
a  cabin-boy,  and  then  a  sailor,  like 
most  of  the  poor  boys  born  in  mari- 
time towns.  But  what  grieved  him 
most  was  the  parting  with  Nicola, 
and  his  little  Benjamin,  his  pretty 
boy,  perhaps  never  to  see  them  again. 
This  thought  kept  him  long  in  hesi- 
tation ;  but,  at  length,  putting  his 


bbnjamit*. 


10 


trust  in  Providence,  and  placing  him- 
,elf  and  his  fan.ily  under  its  protec- 
tion,  he  tenderly  embraced  his  wife 
and  son,  and  tearing  himself  from 
their  encircling  arms,  hastened  on 
board  the  ship,  and  was  soon  out  of 
light  of  those  he  loved  so  well. 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  lolled 
away  without  bringing  any  tidings 
of  Louis.     Nxola  began  to  be  very 
uneasy,  and  little   Benjaiain  often 
asked  when  his  father  would  como 
back.    This  question  always  made 
his  mother  shed  tears,  and  then  Ben- 
jamin was  sure  to  cry  too.     In  the 
evening,  Nicola  used  to  take  her  son 
by  the  hand,  and  walk  down  to  the 
sea-shore,  where,  kneeling  on  the 
beach  with  clasped  hands,  they  pray- 
ed  that  God  would  bring  the  wan- 
derer safe  home.     If  a  light  breeze 
carried  their  prayers  over  the  tmu- 


so 


BEKJAMIV. 


quil  waters,  their  hearts  were  filled 
with  joy  and  hope ;  but  if  their 
words  were  drowned  in  the  angry 
turmoil  of  siirn^ing  waves,  and  the 
horse  roaring  of  tlie  winds,  lliey  were 
■ad  and  fearful,  hope  deserted  them, 
and  fatal  presentiments  chilled  their 
▼ery  souls. 

But  these  harassing  fears,  and  this 
heart-wearing  anxiety  were  as  noth- 
ing when  compared  with  their  an- 
guish acd  despair,  when  the  fatal 
reality  stared  them  in  the  face.  Louis 
Milon  never  returned!  Eighteen 
months  had  parsed  since  he  left  his 
home,  yet  nothing  was  known  of  his 
fate.  The  vessel  on  which  he  had 
embarked  was  to  have  been  no  more 
than  a  year  absent ;  so  thai  it  could 
no  longer  be  doubted  that  she  had 
perished,  with  every  soul  on  board, 
before  she  reached  her  destination. 


HI 


Vuinl)   would  I  try  to  depict  the 
ericf  of  the  bereaved  Nicola.     Very 
ioon  after  this,  she  was  reduced  to 
the  last  extremity  of  misery,  and 
was  driven  to  a  terrible  necessity. 
Her  piety  gave  her  courage,  for  re- 
ligion  alone  has  power  to  sustam  the 
bruised  and  sinking  spirit.    It  taught 
her  not  onlv  to  sulTcr  with  patience 
and  resignation,  but  it  gave  her  en- 
ergy  to  work  her  way  out  of  trouble. 
Her  principle  of  action  was  ever  this  t 
''Help  yourself y  and  Heaven  wUl 

\ap  you:^  .    ,     , .  ^ 

Very  far  from  allowing  herself  to 
be  cast  down  by  adversity,  or  appeal- 
ing to  the  charity  of  others  for  her 
support,  the  stout-hearted  Nicola, 
having  placed  Benjamin  under  the 
care  of  the  ship-owner,  who  begged 
to  have  him,  sought  and  found  a  situ- 
ation  in  the  family  of  an  aged  lady, 


>  ^.1 


J 


22 


BENJAMIN. 


who  lived  in  the  country  near  Chate- 
laudren,  and  came  only  to  spend  the 
winter  months  in  Saint  Brieuc.  So 
it  happened  that  the  mother  and  son 
were  separated  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year.  What  a  grievous 
sacrifice  this  was,  and  how  great  a 
trial  fo-  poor  Nicola !  How  hard 
was  the  lot  of  our  luckless  Benja. 
min!  What  a  precarious  situation 
was  his,  poor  little  fellow,  who  was 
scarcely  six  years  old,  deprived  of 
the  tender  care,  and  wise  counsels 
of  his  father  and  mother ;  admitted 
through  compassion  into  the  house 
of  a  stranger,  an  opulent  merchant 
entirely  occupied  with  business,  and 
who  forgot  that  such  a  person  was 
in  existence,  before  be  was  live  min- 
utes under  his  roof!  What  was  to 
become  of  Benjamin  amid  the  crowd 
of  clerks  and  w(.    ing  people  that 


B  E  N   T  A  M  I  N  . 


23 


filled  ihe  house  of  the   merchant! 
Some  were  shouting,  others  swear- 
some  singing,  and  others  again 
Clacking  rude  jokes,  hut  all  were 
busily  employed.     Benjamin  alone 
was  doing  nothing,  and  he  stood  look- 
ing at  them  all,  with  a  sad  and  heavy 
heart,  and  the  big  tears  rolling  down 
his  cheeks.    When  any  one,  passing 
by,  addressed  him  in  a  loud,  coarse 
voice,  he  blushed  and  knew  not  what 
to  say.    Alas !  the  voices  around  him 
were  very,  very  different  from  the 
mild,  fond  accents  of  his  gentle  mo- 
ther. 

With  his  little  head  full  of  such 
thoughts  as  these,  Benjamin  watch- 
ed his  opportunity,  and  stole  away 
when  the  men  weie  not  minding 
him,  to  the  porter's  lodge,  where 
there  had  been  a  little  bed  prepared 
for  him  m  a  dork  corner. 


OHAPrBK   II. 

The  porter  with  whom  our  llitU 
Benjainiii  was  now  hKlgeil,  liail 
been  forty  years  a  soldier,  aiul  dur- 
ing that  long  course  of  time  lie  had 
become  hardened  in  iniquity.  The 
people  of  the  house  called  him 
Father  Bomb,  and  by  that  name 
he  was  known  far  and  near.  He 
was  of  a  gay  and  lively  disposition, 
and  his  life  was  pretty  nearly  di- 
vided between  drinking  and  singing 


BEX. 7  VMITT. 


25 


This  old  man  io-k  a  great  fancy  to 
Benjamin,  whom  he  called  his     lit- 
lie  comrade."   But  alas!  the  friend- 
ihip  of  such  a   man  could  only  lie 
fatal  to  a  child  of  that  age,  and  the 
consequence  ^vna    that  little  hy  lit- 
tle he  taught  him  to  like  what  he 
liked,  and  very  soon  uprooted  wliat- 
ever  principles   of  virtue   the   pooi 
child  had  acquired  from  his  virtu- 
ous parents.   He  even  left  ofT  saying 
either  morning  or  evening  prayers, 
which  he   had    till    then   hcen  so 
punctual  in  doing.    When  once  he 
abandoned  God,  it  was  all  over  with 
him,  for  God  gave  him  up  to  his 
own  wayward  heart.     Hearing  ev- 
ery   one   about  him  swearing   and 
cursing,  he  too  began  to  swear,  and 
seeing  bicKering  and  quarrelling  all 
aiound  he  soon  became  rude  and 
refractory ;  in  a  word,  the  company 


26 


BENJAMIN. 


\nd  the  pernicious  example  of  Fath. 
er  Bomb  totally  destroyed  his  inno- 
cence, and  planted  in  his  heart  the 
germ  of  every  vice. 

Whit  a  fearful  change  was  that-, 
Benjamin,  so  young  and  inexperi- 
enced, without  strength  to  resist  se- 
duction, moved  rapidly  on  in    the 
way  of  destruction,  and  became  to- 
tally depraved  at  an  age  when  it 
is  80  much  the  more  dangerous  to 
imbibe  evil  propensities,  because  the 
first  impressions  made  on  the  mind 
are  ever  the  deepest,  and  the  most 
difficult   to  efface.      All   the   mer. 
wound  the  house  had  at  first  thought 
Benjamin  a  very  awkward  boy,  and 
laughed  immoderately  at  his  bash- 
ftil  air ;  but  wlien  once  he  began  lo 
imitate   themselves,   they    declared 
him  "a  charming  boy,"  and  their 
praises  incited  him  to  go  still  greatei 


B  K  N  J  A  M  I  N 


27 


lengths.      Unhappy  cliild !   every- 
thing around  conspired  to  effect  hia 

ruin. 

It  so  happened  that  the  monstrous 
vices  which  Benjamin  contracted, 
were  not  those  which  belonged  to 
his  own  age.  To  the  vices  of  a 
man  he  only  wanted  to  add  those 
imperfections  and  bad  qualities  pe- 
culiar to  childhood,  and  this  he  failed 
not  to  do,  having  a  model  for  that 

too. 

Mr.  Delor,  the  rich  merchant, 
who  was  the  owner  of  the  house, 
had  a  son  about  seven  and  a  lialf 
years  old,  named  Meriadec,  who 
had  been  with  liis  niollier  'or  llie 
last  two  months  at  a  '  shionable 
watering-place.  The,  ?re  now 
expected  home  every  duy.  At  last 
they  came,  and  Benjamin  was  stand- 
il^  at  the  door  of  tlie  pewter's  lodge. 


BENJAMIN. 


t8 

when  the  carriage  drove  into   iho 
court-yard.     As  soon   as   Menadc' 
could  get   the   carriage-door  open, 
he  jumped  out,   to   the   inuiiineni 
danger    of  •  his    life  or   Unibs,   and 
knocking  down,  in  his  hurry,  one 
Df  his  mother's  waiting-women  who 
had  come  out  to  receive  her  mis- 
vress.     He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Benjamin,  whose  face  pleased  him, 
and  s     he  was  all   impatience  to 

speak  to  him. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  said  he,  ab- 

ruptly. 

*<  Benjamhi  Milon." 

"  Where  do  you  live  1 " 

•*  Here  in  the  gat^-house." 

"  Ah  !  with  old  Bomb." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  your  father  1 " 

«  He  is  dead ! »  sobbed  Benjamin. 

"  Oh !  you  must  not  rry  so ; "  re- 


KJ""^^ 


UEN'JAMIN. 


29 


Bumed  Meriadec,  and  lie  hugged 
him  in  his  arms.  But  Benjamin 
cried  more  and  more.  "  Don't  cry, 
now ! "  continued  Meriadec.  "  Do 
you  hear  me  *?  I  won't  have  you 
cry ;  come  with  me  ! " 

So,  taking  Benjamin  by  the  hand, 
be  brought  liim  straight  into  the 
parlor,  Benjamin  making  no  resist 
ancL,  as  one   may   well    imagine. 
You  see,  Uttle  Meriadec  was  what  is 
called  a  spoiled  child,  accustomed  to 
do  his  own  will  in  all  things,  and  to 
govern  every   one   about  hi'xi   by 
those  authoritative  words  :   "  1  will 
have  it  so."     In  other  respects,  he 
had,  as  we  have  seen,  a  very  good 
heart,  an  exceedingly  sensitive  dis- 
position, with  a  great  deal  of  candor 
and  ger  erosity.     Yet  all  these  goo<' 
qualities  were  very  uncertain,  and 
v.'ere  far  overbalanced  by  his  fault* 


80 


BENJAMIN^ 


His  affections  were  ardent  and  sud- 
denly formed,  but  tliey  died   away 
just  as  quickly,  for  Meriadec  wa» 
fickle  as  the  changeful  wind.     He 
was  a  sort  of  little  tyrant  who  must 
be  obeyed  without  a  murmur,  who 
must  be  constantly   amused,  with- 
out ever  wearying  or  complaining, 
and  no  easy  task  it  was  to  keep  him 
in  temper,  so  capricious  were   his 
likings  and  dislikings. 

When  he  entered  the  parlor  he 
had  Benjamin  by  the  hand,  as  al- 
ready related,  and  his  mamma  in- 
quired who  the  little  boy  was.  He 
answered,  without  looking  at  her, 
«  He  is  my  friend."  Whereupon 
Mrs.  Delor  smiled,  as  she  cast  a 
scrutinizing  glance  over  the  shabby 
apparel  of  the  new  friend.  She 
then  obtained  from  Benjamin  an 
account  of  himself  and  his  parents. 


AL. 


BKVJAMIH 


31 


"  My  child ! "  said  she  to  Men- 
tdec,  "  your  friend  is  very  pretty, 
but  wretchedly  clad.  Just  fancy, 
now,  if  any  one  came  in  p  d  saw 
him  here.  And  then  his  great, 
heavy  shoes— why  he  cannot  wall: 
on  this  floor  without  slipping." 

"That's  all  very  true,  mnmma, 
but  then  Pni  going  lo  <hess  him 
properly.  You  see  we're  just  the 
same  size." 

"  But,  my  dear  child " 

"  I  will  have  it  so— that's  all." 
So  saying,  he  dragged  out  mto 
the  middle  of  the  floor  a  certain 
drawer,  from  which  he  equipped 
Benjamin  in  a  complete  suit.  Mrs. 
Delor  laughed  heartily,  for  she  was 
delighted  to  see  her  boy  so  clever 
and  so  kind.  As  to  Benjamin,  he 
allowed  his  officious  and  bustling 
friend  to  do  with  hbi  as  he  pleased, 


BENJAMIN. 


39 

for  Meriadec  put  on  the  clothes  him* 
self,  in  order  to  hurry  the  work. 

He  had   barely   finished   Benja- 
min's equipment,  when   he   called 
out  for  his  play-things,  and  instantly 
two    large    boxes    of    them    were 
thrown  open.    It  was  long  since  he 
had  seen  them,  so  that  they  were 
all  as  it  were  new  to  him,  and  he 
was  delighted  to  see  once  more  hia 
:oacli  and  eight  horses,  his  troop  of 
.  avail  y,  l»is  cannon,  his  foot-soldiers, 
his  moving  menagerie,  his  Chinese 
mandarins,   Turks   and   Arabs,    his 
panoramn,  his  ponchinello,  his  pack 
of  hounils,  and  what  not  besides.  In 
fact  every  description  of  play-thing 
found  on  the  shelves  of  a  toy-shop. 
In  the  twinkling  of  an   eye  they 
were  scattered  all  around,  and  .he 
floor,  the  chairs,  m  short  every  arti- 
le  of  furniture  in  the  room  was  lit 


I     I   I 


•C'Fi.-^-icr.rz' 


BIKJ AMIN. 


31 


erally  covered.  The  two  boj's  were 
amusing  themselves  making  a  gen- 
eral review,  when  Mrs.  Delor,  who 
had  a  short  time  before  quitted  the 
room,  came  in  with  a  bowl  of  rasp- 
berries well  covered  with  sugar,  and 
moistened  with  water  and  Bordeaux 

wine. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  slie,  "  do 
leave  your  play  for  one  moment. 
Here  are  some  raspljerries,  which  1 
know  you  like  very  much ;  I  have 
sent  for  them  on  purpose  for  you. 
Come,  my  best  darling— come  to 
your  own  mamma." 

«  T>aspberries !  Oh,  give  them 
here!"  cried  Meriadec,  springing 
up,  and  trampling  under  foot  the 
ponchinello,  the  hounds,  and  the 
carriage. 
"Here,  my  son,  eat  them  now. 


t4 


BIMJ  411111. 


1  know  they  will  refresh  you.    See 
how  fresh  and  ripe  they  are  ! " 

^^  Mamma)  where's  Benjamin's 
•hare  1 »' 

"My  dear  love,  that  is  all  wo 
could  obtain  this  evening.  To-mor- 
row 1  shall  send  for  some  for  hiir 
too." 

"  But,  mamma,  he  could  eat  them 
very  well  to-dp  *^ould  you  not, 
Benjamin?    Yc  *hem,  don't 

you  1 " 

"Why— yes But    then — if 

there  is  none  for  me." 

"  Oh  !  there  must  be  some  for 
you.  Mamma,  you  must  get  some 
for  Benjamin,  or  I  won't  eat  one  of 
these." 

"Mv  child,  he  shall  have  some 
to-morrow." 

"That  won't  do— he  must  have 
them  just  now — this  very  minute." 


BBNJ41IIII.  •• 

•*  It  is  quite   impossible.    There 
ve  none  to  be  had." 

"  But  they  must  be  got." 
"Come  —  come,  my  son!  —  eat 
your  fruit!  You  are  in  need  ot 
bomelliiiig  after  your  long  journey, 
and  I  know  you  are  fond  of  rasp- 
berries." 

"  And   so     is     Benjamin      He 
must  have  some  too." 

"  Well !  then,  give  him  •ome  of 
yours,  Meriadec!" 

"  Oh !  not  at  all !— I  couldn't  do 

that." 

"Then,  let  him  wait  till  to- 
monow.    They  are  very  scarce  juft 

now." 

"  I  assure  you,  mamma,  there  are 
plenty  to  be  had.  Please  to  send 
Julietta.  Do  now,  my  dear,  sweet 
mamma— do  send  — PU  be  much 


36 


BENJAMIN 


obliged  to  you,  and  so  will  Benjtu 
rain,  I  do  assure  you." 

Mrs.  Delor  knew  not  how  to  re- 
fuse her  son,  whose  obstinate  en- 
treaties she  set  down  as  a  proof  of 
his  goodness  of  heart.  Alas  !  how 
many  mothers  are  there  who  thus 
turn  the  faults  of  their  children  into 
virtues  ?  So  she  yielded  to  his  en- 
treaties, and  Julietta  was  sent  out 
with  orders  to  search  the  whole 
tow^n,  if  necessary,  and  not  come 
back  without  the  raspberries  for  Ben- 
jamin. On  this  condition,  and  on 
this  alone,  Meriadec  consented  to  eat 
his  fruit.  Julietta  returned,  after  a 
good  deal  of  walking,  with  a  little 
basket  of  raspberries,  which  had  cost 
fifteen  pence.  Meriadec  was  well 
pleased  to  see  them,  and  with  his 
own  hands,  he  sweetened  and  pre- 
pared   them    for    his    companion. 


-i—^Mjrsry 


BENJAMIN. 


SY 


When  night  came,  Benjamin  slept 
in  the  same  room  with  Meriadec, 
because  the  latter  sturdily  declared 
thai  he  would  not  let  hini  go  away. 


!llii 


H 


T^^^^I 


CHAPTBB  Hi. 


^ItlmsB  anlr  d^lnttniq. 


The  attachments  which  iisuallj 
spring  up  between  children,  unless 
they  be  based  on  relierion,  are  ahnost 
sure  to  become  the  source  of  mis- 
chief, each  bringing  into  the  con- 
nexion only  faults  and  failings,  and 
bad  example.  Hence  we  sliall  not 
set  down  as  real  friendship  the  close 
intimacy  which  was  so  quickly 
formed  l)etween  Meriadec  and  Ben- 
ianiin«  an  intimacy  which  entirely 


IIF.  VTAMIN 


1«* 


depended  on  the  incessant  caprice 
of  the  foripsr,  and  the  servile  ohe- 
dience  oi  the  latter.     Yet  were  the 
consequences  fatal  to  both,  for  each 
acquired  some  vices  nom  the  other. 
Meriadec,  constantly    flattered   and 
humored  by  his  new  friend,  L         e 
still  more  violent  and  overbe*     .j,, 
while  Benjamin,  being   incessantly 
provoked  and  irritated  by  Meriadec's 
insatiable  caprices,  and   depending 
on  his  support,  which   he  was  al- 
ways  sure  to  receive,   imitated   the 
young  gentleman's  conduct  in  every 
particular,  and  to  every  one  except 
him,  he  was  insolent,  cross-grained 
and  ill-natured— he  who  had  lately 
been   so    mild,  so    humble,  and  so 
pious.     He    had   now  become   dis- 
agreeable, turbulent,  vain,  idle,  and 
to  crown  all,  a  glutton!     Wliai  \ 
sad  change  m  a  few  months ! 


\ 


"'  ^i 


il 


40 


BENJAMIN. 


Oh,  my  children  ! — you  wlio  read 
his  history,  I  ijiiplore  you  to  profit 
hy  liis  example !  You  see  how  ra- 
pid is  th*»  descent  to  evil,  and  how 
easily  we  are  drawn  away  by  the 
torrent  of  passion,  when  yo\ith  and 
inex}>er'ence  prevent  us  from  seeing 
other  the  dangers  to  which  we  are 
exposed,  or  the  fatal  consequences 
of  contracting  evil  habits  ! 

In  the  constant  dissipation  of  Ben- 
jamin's new  way  of  living,  he  scarce- 
ly ever  found  a  moment's  time  to 
tliink  of  his  kind  mother,  whom  he 
had  so  tenderly  loved.  Yei  this  was 
not  surprising,  for  he  who  wilfully 
neglected  the  best  of  fathers — his 
Father  in  heaven — could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  remember  his  mother.  It 
is  one  and  the  same  law  which  com- 
mands us  to  serve  God,  to  love  our 
neighl>or,  and  to  honor  our  father 


i! 
It 


L. 


BENJAMIN. 


41 


and  mother;  and  he  who  violates 
one  commandment  is  ready  and 
willing  to  break  the  others  also.  So 
Benjamin  thought  no  more  of  his 
mother,  or  if  he  did  remember  her 
for  a  moment,  it  was  with  little  oi 
no  affection,  and  only  till  somethini.' 
else  took  his  attention. 

But  with  Nicola    the    case   was 
far  different.      Every  day  the  poor 
mother  became  more  anxious  about 
the  health,  and  still  more  about  the 
conduct  of  her  son.     In  her  restless 
solicitude  about  him,  she  imagined 
him  exposed  to  a  thousand  dangers, 
and  tormented  herself  with  appre- 
hensions  for  the  little  ingrate  who 
troubled  himself  so  little  about  her. 
But  so  it  ever  is  with  the  affectionate 
heart  of  a   mother,  wearing  away 
her  very   life  with   care  and   anx- 
iety for  ber  child  or  cinldren.     It  ii 


i 


mM\ 


•J 


;I4.1| 


nl^ 


42 


R  E  N  J  4  M  I  N 


not  easy  to  describe  the  impatience 
with  which  Nicola  looked  forward 
to  the  pe  iod  of  her  mistress's  rel  urn 
to  the  town.  But  at  last  it  came ; 
the  firet  appearance  of  winter  waa 
the  signal  for  departure.  No  sooner 
had  they  arrived  in  town,  than  Ni- 
cola hastened  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Delor  to  see  her  belnved  child.  He 
was  just  then  in  the  yard,  dragging 
a  little  sleigh  over  the  crust  of  ice 
\.?hich  had  gathered  on  a  small  pond. 
Just  as  his  mother  entered,  the  ice 
gave  way,  and  not  being  able  to 
get  his  sleigh  along  as  smoothly  as 
he  wished,  he  fell  into  a  passion, 
and  swore  a  fearful  oath.  Nicola, 
thunderstruck,  could  not  believe  her 
own  ears.  Could  it  really  be  her 
Bon,  her  own  Benjamin,  who  had 
uttered  that  blasphemy?  Could  it 
be  iiim  who  was  lugging  a  way  so 


n  E  N  J  A  M  I  s  . 


43 


violcnlly  at  the  sleigh,  Wis  whole 
face  intiained  with  passion?  Alas! 
what  a  discovery  !  Her  son  was 
changed  into  a  little  fury— a  hlas- 
phemer  ! 

Meantime,  she  went  up  to  jum. 
The  joy  of  seeing  him  again  made 
her  forget  for  a  moment  those  dan- 
gerous faults  which  clumce  had  re 
vealed  to  her;  she  thouirjit  of  notn- 
ing— felt   nothing— but  the  delight 
of  embracing  her  child.     Benjamin, 
taken  by  surprise,  was  really  over- 
joyed to  see  hia  mother,  ami  testi- 
fied the  greatest  afl'ection  for   her, 
ardently  returning  her  caresses,  and 
weeping  with  joy   as  she   herself 
did ;    in  short,  he  seemed  suddenly 
restored   to  his  own  natiuai   dispo- 
sition,   and  Nicola    I'^rgoi  that   she 
had  seen  him  so  dilTerent.     Those 
moments  were  all  too  short  to  ca- 


I 


u 


RRNJAMIlf. 


ii 


ress  and  fondle  her  child,  and  to 
enjoy  the  deh'ght  of  seeing  him  still 
80  loving,  and  she  willingly  post- 
poned her  censures  and  reproaches 
till  some  other  opportunity. 

Having  talked  with  Benjamin  for 
some  time,  his  mother  went  to  thank 
Mr.  Delor,  and  to  ask  his  permis- 
sion to  take  iier  little  boy  home  with 
her  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
day.  The  merchant,  of  course,  wil- 
lingly  agreed,  hut  it  would  not  have 
been  so  easy  to  get  Meriadcc  to 
consent,  had  he  been  at  home ;  for- 
tunately he  had  gone  out  with  his 
mother. 

Benjamin  was  very  glad  to  go 
home  with  his  mother,  and  he  was 
received  by  Madam  Dubac  with 
(Treat  kindness.  That  good  lady 
was  very  old,  yet  she  .11  loved 
children,   and   was  always   pleased 


i     i| 


BENJAMIN. 


4A 


to  see  them.      Before  dinner-lime 
came,  she  gave  Benjamin  a  cake 
and    some  sweetmeats,  which    he 
devoured  so  greedily  that  both  his 
mother  and   lier  mistress  observed 
it.    Alas !  every  moment  discovered 
some  new  fault  in  Benjamin,  and 
his  mother  was  overwhelmed  with 
grief.      At  one    time,  she   caught 
him  smirking  and  smiling  before  a 
glass,  admiring  his  fine  dress,  for  he 
had  put  on  his  best  clothes  to  go 
with  his  mother.     Again  she  found 
him  lolling  lazily  on  a  couch,  look- 
ing as   indolent  and  as  listless  as 
though  he  had  been  all  his  life  ac- 
customed to  luxury.     And  there  he 
lay,  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  yawn- 
ing and  stretching  as  though  he  had 
been  tired    working.      When    his 
mother   called  him,  and  told   him 
to  do  this  or  that,  he  either  stoutly 


46 


BENJAMIN. 


refused,  or  if  not,  he  obeyed  her 
with  a  sullen  look,  and  tlic  worst 
possible  grace. 

Nicola  was  both  angry  and  af- 
flicted. "  Alas ! "  said  she  to  her- 
self, in  the  bitterness  of  her  heart, 
"  Is  this  tlie  same  Benjamin  from 
whom  I  parted  scarcely  twelve 
months  ago?  Oh!  no  —  no — he 
was  far,  far  different — he  had  many 
good  qualities,  while  in  this  boy  I 
can  see  nothing  but  vice.  Ah! 
unhappy  woman  that  I  am,  to  be 
the  mother  of  a  blasphemer,  of  a 
child  addicted  to  anger,  to  gluttony, 
vanity,  idleness  and  disobedience ! 
I  who  hoped  to  see  my  son  adorn*\! 
with  the  virtues  of  his  poor  fntlier, 
to  find  him  now  tainted  with  w 
many  vices !  Ah !  why  do  I  live 
to  behold  so  sad  a  sight, — and  so 


BEKJAMIN. 


4^ 


mounifnl  a   prospect  for  both   liira 
and  me  in  the  time  to  come ! " 

These  comphiinfs  and  lamenta- 
tions, so  far  from  softening  Benja- 
min's heart,  only  nnnoyed  and 
turearied  him,  just  as  one  might  ex- 
pect. The  young  rascal  coolly 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  off  with- 
out saying  a  word,  and  return  to 
Mr.  Dolor's  house.  Accordingly, 
he  stole  out,  while  his  mother  wa^ 
engaged  with  her  mistress,  and  he 
had  got  as  far  as  the  court  which 
separated  the  house  from  the  street, 
when  the  fresh  sweet  sniell  of 
fruit  attracted  his  attention,  and  lie 
knew  that  the  desert  was  being  pre- 
pared. A  door  at  one  side  was 
open,  and,  looking  in,  he  saw  no 
one,  whereupon  he  was  tempted  to 
enter.  What  a  sight  was  there  for 
a    glutton.      There    were    several 


i-       ' 


I 

i  1 

11 


E.il« 


48 


BBMJAMXir. 


plates  filled  with  the  most  exqui- 
site fruits  of  the  season,  and  in  the 
centre  stood  a  large  cake,  very  nice- 
ly gilt  and  decorated,  and  looking 
altogether  so  tempting,  that  it  made 
his  mouth  water.  Alas!  must  it 
be  confessed  tliat  Benjamin  could 
not  resist  the  temptation.  Without 
pausing  to  think  of  the  enormous 
crime  he  was  committing,  nor  of 
the  possible  consequences  to  his 
mother,  he  filled  his  pockets  with 
tiie  ci»oico>t  Iruita,  and  then,  taking 
up  a  knilo,  he  cut  out  all  the  mid- 
dle part  of  the  cake,  leaving  the 
crust  behind ;  by  this  plan  he  hoped 
that  his  theft  iniglit  not  be  iii-cov- 
ered,  at  least  lor  some  time. 

Having  secured  his  booty,  he  slily 
left  the  place,  but,  instead  of  going 
back  home,  as  he  had  at  first  in- 
tended, he  went  towards  the  bridge, 


rf 


nENJAMI5. 


49 


10  as  to  foast  at  leisure  on  the  siofca 
dainties.     For   tliis  purpose   lie  se- 
lecieil  a  retired  spot  where  no  one 
would  l>e   likely   to  disturb  him  at 
his  repisi.     Indeed,  he  made  such 
quick  work  of  if,  that  there  was  not 
much  time  foi  interruption ;  it  was 
little  more  than  the  work  of  a  min- 
ute to  swallow   pears,  apples,  and 
all  the  rest.    Till  then,  he  had  only 
one  thought,— the  greedy  desire  of 
hiding  his  prey  ;  hut,  when  all  was 
eaten  up,  and  that  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  do  but  digest  it  at  leis- 
ure,  he   began   to   reflect  that   his 
crime   must   soon  be  discovered  at 
Madam   Dubac's,   and   that,  in  all 
probability,  they  would  send  to   Mr. 
Delor's  to  inquire  about  him. 

His  fears  were  well  founded.  His 
departure  was  soon  known,  and  al- 
most  as  soon,   was  his  theft  found 


J 


I  5 


I 


,  ■  if 


50 


BENJAMIN. 


out.  His  mother  was  overwhelmed 
with  grief  at  tlii?  last  proof  of  her 
ion's  wickedness,  and,  the  worst  of 
•ill  was,  tliat  she  knew  of  no  means 
likely  to  reclaim  him.  As  soon  as 
her  mistress  had  dined,  she  hurried 
away  to  Mr.  Delor's  to  look  after 
her  unhappy  child.  Let  us  now 
sec  how  Benjamin  had  passed  the 
intervening  time. 

Having  wandered  for  some  time 
on  and  about  the  bridge,  he  was 
seized  with  violent  pains  in  his 
stomach,  which,  being  overloaded, 
could  not  digest  such  an  unusual 
quantity  of  food.  He  turned  pale 
OS  death,  and  his  face  was  bathed 
in  a  cold  sweat.  His  sickness  drove 
away  all  his  fears,  and  he  resolved 
to  return  home,  even  though  hia 
mother  were  there  before  him.  Bu 
the  had  not  yot  arrived. 


D  E  N  J  A  M  I  N 


51 


When  lie  appeared  before  Father 
Boinl),  his  old  friend,  liis  face  pale, 
his  eyes  dull   and   heavy,  and    his 
strength  totally  gone,  tlie  old  man 
made  hini  go  into   the    lodge,  and 
drink  a  couple  of  glasses  of  wine. 
But  that  only  made  mailers  worse, 
for  the  weight  of  the  liipior  and  its 
fermentation   in   the    stomach,   in- 
creased the  unhappy  child's   disor- 
der,  and  he   wns   laid  on  the  bed 
almost  senseless^. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  his 
mother  arrived,  hut  her  indignation 
soon  gave  place  to  the  keenest  anx- 
iety, when  she  saw  him  in  such    a 
condition.     She  easily  guessed  how 
matters  were,  anil  saw  at  once  that 
this  was  a  just  punishment  of  Ben- 
jamin's gluttony.     And   truly   the 
punishment  was  a  very  severe  one, 
for,  nouvithstanding   all  that  could 


I 

1     J 

1 

i 


!   > 


it 


'  H 


f 


■Jil 
:  'i\ 


ea 


BENJAMIN. 


be  done,  his  stomach  was  not  ro 
lieved  till  the  middle  of  the  night. 
Even  then,  the  unhappy  little  cul- 
prit continued  in  violent  p'jin,  the 
necessary  consequence  of  his  intem- 
perance. At  length  he  fell  asleep, 
and  his  poor  mother  returned  to  her 
mistress,  just  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 


^^ 


11 


lAik 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ft?  I,  ■jiti  af  a  lrl)DDi. 

N1GO1.A  never  "closed  an  eye  all 
tliat  night,  for  the  grief  of  her  heart, 
and  the  bitternes?  of  her  reflections 
would  not  permit  a  moment's  rest. 
A  thousand  anxious  thoughts  press- 
ed heavily  on  her  mind.   She  could 
no   longer  hide  from  herself  the 
numerous  faults  which  her  son  had 
contracted  in   the   house  of    Mr. 
Delor ;  faults  which,  if  left  to  them- 


* .  I 

I 


U 


' 


Ill' 


64 


BENJAMIN. 


hidnoiis  and  destructive  passions.  It 
was,  ihcrcfore,  absolutely  necessary 
lo  pluck  ')ul  the  evil  by  the  root, 
and  for  ihiii  purpose  it  would  have 
been  the  best  and  safest  course  to 
remove  Benjamin  from  his  present 
abode.  But  then,  where  was  she  to 
place  him  ?  Madam  Dubac  was  far 
from  being  wealthy,  tind,  besides,  it 
^^'\'  not  likely  that  she  would  admit 
the  boy  into  her  house  after  what 
he  had  done.  Nicola,  thus  circum- 
stanced, could  only  make  the  best 
of  the  means  within  her  reach,  but, 
what  she  could  do,  she,  at  least,  did 
promptly. 

Next  day  she  went  to  see  Mr. 
Delor.  Having  given  him  an  exact 
account  of  all  that  had  passed  on 
the  previous  day,  she  added :  "  You 
see,  sir,  that  it  is  high  time  to  put  a 
•top  to  these   evil    propensities.      1 


Jl 


DBNJAVIV. 


6fi 


know  you  wish  Benjamin  too  well 
not  to  second  the  intentions  of  his 
mother  whose  hope  is  to  see  him 
grow  up  nn  honest  man.  I  do  be- 
lieve that  his  present  vices  all  spring 
from  idleness  ;  for  idleness,  you 
know,  sir,  is  said  to  be  the  mother 
of  all  vice.  Will  you  then  please 
to  employ  him,  were  it  only  for  a 
few  hours  in  the  day,  in  going  er- 
rands or  any  work  of  that  kind  7  I 
hope  you  will  also  allow  hirr  to  go 
to  some  free-school,  where  he  may 
acquire  good  principles,  by  means 
of  good  advice  and  good  example. 
When  once  he  begins  to  get  a  taste 
for  learning,  he  will  do  better. 
The  only  thing  that  can  save  him 
now  is  a  good,  Chrictian  education, 
and  from  it,  I  have  every  hope 
Do  not  refuse  to  give  me  your  ad- 
vice, as  I  hope  to  have  you'  assist- 


t 

€    rl 


Li  ik 


. 


* 


&6 


BKN  J  Alim 


ance  in  tiiis,  to  me,  most  important 
matter.     Tliis,  sir,   I   expect  from 


your  generosity,  and  I  implore  it 
from  your  compassion ;  it  will  be 
the  completion  of  your  great  kind- 
ness to  me  and  mine." 

Mr.  Dclor  listened  very  atten- 
tively. *'  You  really  anticipate  my 
own  wishes,"  he  replied,  "for  I 
had  been  thinking  somewhat  of 
sending  Benjamin  to  school,  though 
I  must  own  that  I  had  latterly  for- 
gotten all  about  it.  I  am  so  over- 
powered with  business ! — Be  assured, 
however,  that  I  will  attend  to  this 
matter,  now  that  I  am  reminded 
of  it." 

"Oh!  sir,  you  are  too  good! — 
How  can  I  ever  thank  you  as  I 
ought  *?  Surely  my  child  and  my- 
self will  owe  you  an  endless  debt 
of  giutitudc ! " 


lift- 


BairjAMiir. 


51 


I 


"To-morrow — not  a  day  later — 
if  our  little  patient  is  well  enough  I 
will  take  him  myself  to  school,  and 
introduce  him  to  the  director." 
"  How  very  kind  you  are,  sir ! " 
"  And  I  have  reason  to  expect 
that  my  recommendation  will  have 
a  good  deal  of  weight — at  least  I 
hope  so  1 " 

"  I  do  not  at  all  doubt  it,  sir." 
"  You  see,  my  good  woman,  I  am 
a  member  of  the  Society  for  Intel- 
lectual Emanci'pation^  a  correspond- 
ent of  the  Association  for  the  Pro- 
pagation  of  Intelligence,  also  one 
of  the  founders  of  tin  Committee 
of  Gratuitous  Instruction ,  a  regular 
subscriber  to  the  General  Agency 
of  J^ational  Education,  and  to  the 
Philanthropic  Union  of  the  friends 
of  new  methods  of  Elementary 
Teaching      You  see,  Nicola,"  add- 


I 


a  v.  1 


hi  I 

:  i 
I'T 

U 


B) 


1^ 


■■  I  ife' 


D8 


BKyJAMIK. 


ed  Mr.  Delor,  drawing  himself  up 
with  an  air  of  great  dignity,  "  you 
see  I  am  many  ways  entitled  to  the 
privilege  of  sending  your  son  to  our 
free  sciiool.  Kver  since  its  esta- 
blishment, in  which  I  was  very  in- 
strumental, I  have  had  the  right  to 
send  six  pupils,  because  1  pay  six 
hundred  francs  annually  lo  help  to 
support  the  institution.  Of  course  a 
man  like  me  is  boimd  to  do  some- 
thing for  his  fellow-citizens,  and  for 
his  country.  I  assure  you,  it  costs 
me  upwards  of  a  thousand  crowns 
every  year  of  my  life  subscribing  to 
the  various  societies  of  which  I  am 
R  member — it  really  does !  " 

Nicola  made  no  answer  for  sl»e 
was  lost  in  tliought.  She  did  not 
understand  the  one-half  of  the  big 
words  which  Mr.  Delor  had  spoken, 
but  she  understood  ihi«  much,'t)iat 


ill 


fr 


n  K  N  J  A  M  I  I« 


59 


in  the  long  siring  of  names  she  had 
insl  hoard,  ihore  \v!is  not  a  word 
ahoul  ihc  Scliool  of  ihi*  Christian 
Broihers  of  Si.  Yon.  DoiiImIcss  Mr. 
Dc\or  had  forgotten  it.  I«  never 
once  occurred  lo  her  thai  a  gcntle- 
nmn  whoconirihmed  so  much  every 
year  for  the  purpose  of  promoting 
education  amongst  tlie  people,  could 
overlook  a  broiherhood  entirely  de- 
voted both  by  duty  and  by  zeal  lo 
thai  arduous  and  laliorious  work  ;  u 
brothel  hood  which  has  done  such 
incalcidable  good  in  France  and  in 
every  other  country  where  their 
schools  have  been  established ;  a 
body  of  men  so  res])ectable  for  learn- 
ing and  for  virtue,  and  so  conscien- 
tiously devote  1  lo  their  onerous  task; 
a  body,  which,  far  from  falling  in 
the  public  estimation  since  its  re-es- 
tafclishneni  under  the  Emperor  Na- 


t 


.!   t 


•JSL 


i^au^ayMk. 


60 


BENJAMIN. 


poleon,  has  never  ceased  to  lueru 
and  to  obtain  the  eulogiiims  of  all 
good  men. 

Nicola  was  in  the  habit  of  regard- 
ing Mr.  Delor  as  one  of  the  nios* 
estimable  men  in  St.  Brieuc,  so  she, 
of  course,  considered  him  a  friend 
of  the  Brothers,  although  he  had 
not  included  their  school  in  his  list. 
Unfortunately,  such  was  not  the 
case  :  very  far  from  being  a  benefac- 
tor of  the  Brothers,  Mr.  Delor  was 
their  active,  and  inveterate  enemy. 
He  was  precisely  one  (  '  those  men 
whose  knowledge  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  their  own  peculiar  state,  or 
profession,  and  of  any  thing  beyond 
that,  have  not  even  the  most  com- 
mon information.  By  means  of  cer- 
tain fortunate  speculations  he  had 
amassed  a  gigantic  fortune,  and 
thereby  obtained  a  high  position  in 


=ri 


BKNJAMIK 


ei 


the  world.  He  was  known  to  be  an 
honest  man,  and  iiis  strbiUty  was 
beyond  a  doubt.  In  a  word,  he  had 
a  very  fair  reputation,  but  aUhough 
successful  in  his  undertakings,  and 
respected  in  his  public  capacity,  he 
owed  it  neither  to  education,  nor  to 
any  superiority  of  genius.  When  it 
became  necessary  to  think  on  cer- 
tain subjects,  Mr.  Delor  required 
ready  made  thoughts,  and  in  order 
to  discuss  certain  questions  he  must 
always  have  some  suitable  phrases 
prepared  beforehand.  Now  the  ideas 
and  expressions  aforesaid  the  good 
gentleman  usually  selected  from  his 
favorite  newspaper.  But  of  course 
poor  Nicola  was  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  there  is  a  very  nu- 
merous class,  of  men  who,  like  Mr. 
Delor,  draw  from  the  columns  of 
the  daily  papers  the  opinions  and 


I 

11 


I 


I 


w 


;,  I 


i  I 


63 


BKNJAMIN 


s  I' 


11 

^1 


■  1  m 


fl 


ii 


seniinuMiis  of  wliicli  tlie\  make  8ucl» 
a  pompous  display.  Tlie  siniple- 
hearteil  woman  knew  nothing  of  the 
nefarious  mtUience  of  the  press  on 
modern  society  ;  of  the  press,— thai 
great  auxiUary  of  the  tumultuous 
passions  whicli  divide  us  ;  that  inex- 
haustible source  of  errors,  of  sys- 
tems, of  the  innovations  which 
inundate  and  control  the  world; 
of  the  press,  too  often  the  organ  of 
calumny  and  slander— the  vehicle 
of  impiety  and  anarchy. 

It  was  the  reading,  then,  of  cer- 
tain journals,  and  their  continual 
declamations  against  every  thing 
connected  with  religion,  above  all, 
their  virulent  and  unjiut  attacks 
upon  the  Institute  of  the  Christian 
Brothers,  which  had  inspired  Mr. 
Delor  with  a  profound  aversion  for 
them.     He  haled  ihem  on  the  faith 


Il 


819 J  A  M I  n 


«S 


of  an  editor,  witlioiu  fronM.ng  hiin- 
gelf  to  inquire  vvli  i  were  \  leir  real 
deserts,  or  whothei  the  *  bill'  »•  inveo 
tives  so  often  huuiclieii  ag^ainst  theni) 
were  well-founded.  Hence,  when 
Nicola  mentioned  t-ieir  school  to 
him,  he  knit  his  brows,  coiiipressed 
bis  lips,  and  began  to  Iod<:  very, 
very  grave. 

''Sir,"  said  Nicola,  "I  don'i 
know  any  thing  about  the  schools 
you  have  named;  I  dare  say,  they 
are  all  very  fine  establishment  s,  sinct^ 
a  gentleman  like  you  is  pleased  to 
encourage  them,  but  I  hare  strong 
reasons  for  deciding  on  placing 
Benjamin  under  the  care  of  the 
Brothers.'' 

*'  .  Jnder  the  care  of  the  Brc  thers  i 
— wiy  -urely,  Nicola,  you  would 
not  tbiok  of   doing   that?  —  Now, 


H    'Jl 


64 


BIKJAMIN. 


would  you  really  send  Benjamin  lo 
the  Brothers'  School  ? ' 

"  Why  yes,  sir,  of  courst;  [  woulil, 
and  I  don't  know  why  1  should 
not." 

How!  what! — why,  my  worthy 
woman,  we  want  to  put  down  that 
school  if  we  possibly  can." 

"  And  might  I  ask,  sir,  for  what 
reason." 

"  In  the  first  place,  because  they 
only  form  the  children  into  bigots, 
while  we  want  good  citizens.  That 
is  the  main  point,  you  see!" 

^'  But,  sir,  it  seems  to  uie  that  a 
true  Christian  is  always  a  good  citi- 
zen ;  thai  religion,  which  makes  a 
sacrifice  of  every  thing  dear,  has 
produced  too  juany  courageous,  dis- 
interested, anil  patriotic  men,  not  to 
be  the  best  and  s<ifest  basis  for  edu- 
cation.    AnJ  then  we  cannot  call 


BEKJAMin. 


61 


religion  bigotry;  for  ridicule  can 
never  fall  on  wliat  is  lioly  and 
divine." 

"  Pho !  plio !  you  know  ;  calling  at 
all  about  it,  my  good  Nicola,  but  just 
leave  the  matter  to  me,  since  I  am 
willing  to  take  it  in  hands,  and  do  give 
up  the  notion  of  entrusting  the  pool 
boy  to  masters  whose  look  is  as  cral> 
bed  as  their  costume  is  ridiculous ! " 

"I  cannot  think  as  you  do,  sir. 
If  the  appearance  of  the  Brothers  is 
a  little  grave  or  so,  it  is,  at  least,  de- 
cent, and  just  what  becomes  teach- 
ers who  are  to  command  respect  and 
obedience.  With  respect  to  their 
dress,  it  is  that  of  their  Order,  and  a 
very  decent  dress  it  is  too.  Permit 
me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  these  objec- 
tions are  very  trifling,  indeed,  and 
cannot  weigh  much  against  the 
Brothers." 


H 


Si: 


6 


BENJAMIN. 


"  The  devil ! "  muttered  Mr.  De- 
lor,  with  a  forced  smile,  "  I  see  they 
have  in  you  a  very  warm  advocate. 
But  what  will  you  say,  Nicola, 
when  I  tell  you  that  children  learn 
nothing  in  their  schools,  and  only 
Just  spend  their  time  there  for  noth- 
ing. What  do  you  ^  \y  to  that  now, 
and  I  solemnly  assure  you  that  what 
I  tell  you  is  quite  true." 

"  What  do  I  say,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes — that's  the  word! — let  in 
hear  now ! " 

"  I  say,  sir,  that  you  are  entirely 
misinformed,  and  that  of  all  other 
schools,  those  of  the  Christian  Broth- 
ers are  the  best  regulated — they  are 
those  where  children  make  the 
greatest  progress,  where  they  receive 
the  best  principles  and  where  they 
see  the  most  excellent  exomples. 
Such  was  the  opinion  I  heard  given 


BENJAMIN. 


67 


lately  at  our  house,  by  tlic  Inspects 
of  Primary  Schools,  who  is  a  rela- 
tion of  my  mistress." 

"  Bah !  your  Inspector  of  Primary 
Schools  is  little  belter  than  a  fool," 
said  Mr.  Deloi,  testily.  "The 
Brothers  are  retrogade  teachers,  who 
would  fain  arrest  the  progress  of  in- 
telligence, if  they  ])ossibly  could. 
Their  Institute  belongs  to  a  by-gone 
age,  and  is  far  short  of  the  standard 
required  at  the  present  day.  Their 
course  of  training,  you  see,  is  very 
much  restricted,  and  their  rule,  which 
never  undergoes  any  change,  shuts 
Uiem  up  in  the  narrowest  possible 
circle,  from  whicli  they  can  never 
emerge.  You  may  easily  under- 
stand that  when  they  cannot  keep 
up  with  the  progress  of  the  age, 
they  are  forced  to  fight  against  it. 


I 


«^ 


ta 


0k.y  J  4  v  r«. 


i 


I'hat  lA  tue  '■eal  faU,  and  cannot  be 
dt^nietl/' 

Before  Ni^oia  xulJ  think  of  an 
answer  a  visitor  was  announced  and 
great  was  her  joy  when  she  saw  the 
Inspector  of  Primaiy  Schools  enter 
and  make  his  bow.  Mr.  Delor  re- 
turned the  salute  rather  coldly,  and 
motioned  to  his  visitor  to  take  a  seat 
The  Inspector  was  a  man  of  staid 
demeanor  and  a  singularly  benevo- 
lent countenance,  and  when  his  eye 
fell  on  Nicola  where  she  stood  mo- 
destly in  a  corner,  he  smiled  and 
nodded  to  her :  "  Why,  Nicola,  you 
here  1 — Is  it  possible  7  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Nicola,  dropping 
a  low  curtsey,  "  I  came  to  see  about 
getting  my  little  boy  sent  to  school. 
You  know  Mr.  Delor  here  has  been 
ID  kind  as  to  keep  him  ever  since — 
fince  my  trouble  began." 


BENJAMIN. 


6* 


"  And  only  think,"  said  Mr.  De 
lor,  "  she  wants  to  send  him  to  the 
Brothers'  School ! — What  an  absurd 
idea ! — I  would  as  soon  send  iny  boy 
to  be  taught  by  a  company  of  mad- 
men!— Now  what,  may  I  ask,  it 
your  opinion  of  tliese  Christian 
Schools,  as  they  are  called  1 " 

Though  Mr.  Delor  was  not  alto- 
gether unprepared  for  the  answer  he 
received,  yet  it  evidently  took  him 
somewhat  by  surprise — 

"  Since  you  have  asked  my  opi 
Dion  of  this  Institute,  Mr.  Delor !  ] 
must   candidly  inform  you   that   1 
look  upon  it  as  a  real  blessing  to  so 
ciety.     It  was  undoubtedly  a  very 
holy  and  a  very  benevolent  idea  tc 
form  a  society  of  men,  poor,  virtu 
ous,  and  learned,  entirely  devoted  tc 
the  purpose  of  bestowing  gratuitous 
instniction   on  the  children  of  the 


I 


11 

1 1 


Ml 


fin 


I   lis' 


hi 


70 


BENJAMIN 


poor.  That,  I  think,  may  really  be 
called  progress,  though  the  peojile 
who  now  use  that  wo»"d  so  often 
never  thought  of  instituting  such  a 
society.  And,  what  is  more,  if  they 
had,  they  would  be  almost  sure  to 
spoil  it.  It  is  only  religion  that  can 
create  such  establishments,  so  lasting 
and  so  flourishing,  because  leligion 
alone,  setting  aside  self-interest  and 
ambition,  converts  their  toils  and  pri- 
vations into  works  of  merit.  All 
die  world  knows  that  they  have 
nothing  earthly  to  gain,  and  much 
to  suffer,  so  that  no  one  enters  upon 
the  task  but  those  who  have  placed 
their  treasure  in  heaven,  and  there 
expect  their  reward.  At  the  time 
wh.en  this  heroic  brotherhood  waa 
formed,  and  began  its  labors,  the 
whole  of  France  was  overrun  with 
ignorance  and  vice.     Both  of  these 


( 


R  K  N  J  A  M  f  ir  . 


Tl 


peat  evils  they  counteracted,  by  dif- 
fusing religious  instruction  amongst 
the  masses,  and  they  have  done  more 
than  any  other  human  institution  to 
enlighten  and  civilize  the  people. 
It  is  very  strange  to  hear  them  every 
day  accused  of  being  opposed  to  the 
progress  of  intelligence,  seeing  that 
for  more  than  two  hundred  years, 
they  have  stood  alone,  unpaid,  and 
unaided,  overcoming  many  obsta- 
cles, and  braving  no  small  persecu- 
tion, lighting  the  torch  of  primary 
knowledge  amid  the  darkness  which 
surrounded  our  unhappy  people. — 
*But  again,'  say  those  who  call 
themselves  exclusively  the  friends 
of  progress,  '  the  Brothers  have  a 
rule  which  they  can  neither  change 
nor  violate;  what  they  taught  two 
hundred  years  ago  to  rude,  unpolish- 
ed people,  they  pretend  to   teach 


f 


' 


JLi 


72 


BENJ  AMIN 


now,  when  the  world  is  so  fai  ad- 
vanced in  civilization ;  they  know 
nothing  of  the  peciUiar  wants  of  the 
period  ;  there  they  are,  standing 
stock  still,  never  dreaming  of  keep- 
ing pace  with  the  new  systems  of 
learning,  hut  sticking  fast  by  their 
old  jog-trot  method,  leaching  in  the 
same  old  way,  and  the  result  is — 
nothing  ! '  But  this  contemptuous 
reproach  is  far  from  being  deserved. 
The  pious  founder  of  the  Christian 
Schools  made  choice  of  an  approved 
method,  the  best  in  use  at  that  time, 
and,  after  all  that  can  be  said  against 
it,  there  has  been  none  better  in- 
vented since.  The  best  proof  of 
this  is  the  unanimous  approval  of 
the  world  for  two  hundred  years,  the 
brilliant  subjects  it  has  formed,  and 
does  still  form ;  in  short,  there  is  no 
system  of  teaching  now  known  to 


BENJAMIN. 


73 


U8,  which  has  not  borrowed  some- 
thing from  that  of  the  Brothers.     So 
much  for  their  method.     Then,  as 
to  what  they  teach,  it  is  very  true 
that  their  rule  only  prescribes  read- 
ingy  writing^  and  arithmetic,  to  be 
taught  gratuitously  to  the  children 
of  the  poor.     But  every  one  knowi 
that  as  soon  as  industry  and  the  arti 
became  more  general   amongst  us, 
and  that  a  more  enlarged  system  of 
education  was  required,  the  Brothen 
solicited  and  obtained  from  the  Pope 
lispensation  from  that  particular 
ar  Icie  of  their  Institute.     For  seve- 
ral years  past,  they  have  classes  in 
all  their  schools  for  Grammar,  Ma- 
thematics, Geometry,  Book-keeping 
Jindent  and  Modern  History,  and 
Linear  Drawing,     Now,  sir,  I  know 
not  how  you  can  call  them  retro- 
rade  teachers. 


a" 


y» 


74 


BXK J  AMIH. 


Mr.  Delor  had  not  listened  very 
patiently  to  this  long  defence.  He 
coolly  set  the  speaker  down  as  a 
fool,  and  therefore  unworthy  of  an 
answer,  since  he  could  not  hope  to 
convince  him. 

"So,  Nicola,"  said  he  coldly, 
without  seeming  to  notice  what  the 
Inspector  had  said,  "  I  suppose  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  to  send 
Benjamm  to  these  excellent  Broth- 
ers whom  you  and  this  gentleman 
praise  so  highly  1 " 

"Indeed  I  have,  sir.  My  poor 
husband,  who  was  brought  up  by 
tliem,  told  me  to  do  it,  and  I  am 
bound  to  obey  him.  It  is  also  my 
own  wish,  because  I  know  it  is  the 
only  chance  for  making  Benjamin 
once  more  a  good  boy." 

"  Very  well,  Nicola,  you  can,  of 
course,  do  as  you  like.     You  are  the 


rs  I 


^ 


BENJAMIN. 


75 


absolute  mistress  of  your  son  and 
cnn  dispose  of  him  according  to 
your  prejudices  nnd  fantastic  notions. 
I,  llierefore,  give  him  up  to  you, 
and  must  heg  that  you  will  take  him 
away  this  very  day,  for  I  will  have 
no  one  in  my  house  who  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  those  men." 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  turned 
away,  and  passed  into  another  apart- 
ment. Poor  Nicola  had  never 
dreamed  of  such  an  ending  to  the 
conversation,  and  she  burst  mto  tears. 
A  moment's  reflection  served  to  con- 
vince her  that  it  was  better  to  see 
Benjamin  deprived  of  Mr.  Delor*s 
protection,  than  ruined  by  his  kind- 
ness, so  sh>e  made  ip  her  mind  to 
leave  the  matter  to  the  guidance  of 
Providence. 


'  n 


Li' 

n 


I  . 


CHAPTER   ?. 

€^  (Cjiristian  J^ilnnL 

The  parting  of  Benjamin  and 
Meriadec  would  liave  been  no  easy 
nialter,  in  fact  all  but  impossible, 
had  it  taken  place  under  other  cir- 
cumstances. But  when  Benjamin 
learned  that  Mr.  Delor  had  ordered 
him  out  of  his  house,  without  any 
fault  of  his,  he  felt  himself  highly 
insulted.  Meriadec  calleil  after  him : 
"  Come  back,  I  tell  you— you  shan't 
go!"  but  he  took  no  notic^,  and 
diking  hold  of  his  mother's  hand. 


.  i 


mk 


0  K  H  J  A  11  I  K  . 


77 


walked  away  with  her  without  once 
turning  liis  head. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  coininand 
th«j  firmness  lujuircl  in  an  emer- 
gency, aiid  anoth(>r  to  remain  firm 
in  tlie  resohition  then  taken.  Ben- 
jamin had  just  given  a  proof  that 
when  occasion  required  it,  he  could 
make  a  resohition,  and  exercise  more 
than  a  little  self-control,  hut  he  was 
no  sooner  in  the  street  than  his  firm- 
ness gave  way,  and  he  l^egan  to  cr^ 
bitterly  for  leaving  a  house  wiiere  he 
had  lived  in  idleness,  and  luxury, 
and  free  from  all  restraint.  Such 
was  the  home  he  had  lost,  hut  what 
was  his  new  one  to  be  ? 

And  very  similar  were  the  reflec- 
tions of  his  mother.  The  unfortu- 
nate adventure  of  the  cake  was  too 
recent  to  permit  her  to  hope  any 
thing  from  Madame  Duhac.     And 


ii 


1 


78 


0  E  V  J  A  M  I  N. 


the  event  justified  her  apprehen- 
sionsj  for  when  the  old  lady  heard 
of  what  had  occurred,  she  solemnly 
declared  that  such  a  little  vagabond 
should  not  enter  her  house,  and  that 
his  mother  must  make  some  arrange- 
ment to  keep  him  away  altogether, 
if  she  wished  to  keep  her  situation. 

This  was  not  very  Mattering  to 
Benjamin,  but  his  conscience  told 
him  .lat  it  was  just  what  he  de- 
served. This  was  the  first  time  that 
he  felt  himself  disgraced  by  his  own 
misconduct. 

As  for  his  poor  mother,  she  knew 
not  what  to  do.  She  must  either 
give  up  her  situation  or  find  i  place 
for  her  son,  and  it  would  take  all  her 
little  earnings  to  pay  liis  board. 
Nevertheless  it  must  be  done,  for  she 
had  no  alternative.  There  was  a 
poor  cariienlor  in  the  town,  named 


BENJAMIN. 


79 


Rose],  whom  lier  husband  had  for- 
merly  employed.  Rosel  was  an 
honest,  good  man,  with  but  one 
fault,  that  he  was  somewhat  hasty 
in  his  temper.  His  wife,  the  niece 
of  an  old  priest,  was  a  very  mild, 
pious  woman,  having  three  little 
children  whom  she  was  bringing  up 
in  a  truly  Christian  manner.  All 
hings  considered,  this  house  seemed 
to  be  the  very  place  of  all  others 
that  suited  Benjamin,  so  Nicola  went 
at  once  and  agreed  with  Rosel,  sti- 
pulating that  before  and  after  school, 
the  boy  was  to  be  emi)Ioyed  in  some 
work  adapted  to  his  age  and  strength. 
This  important  point  settled,  she 
took  Benjamin  off  to  present  him  to 
the  Brothers. 

Although  Benjamin  was  old 
enough  to  he  able  to  read,  yet  his 
education  had  been  so  totally   ue- 


M1 


iHl 


80 


B  R  N  J  A  M  I  N  . 


!     I 

I 
I 

i 
i 
I 


glected  that  tie  knew  not  one  lettei 
oi"  the  alphabet,  a  circumstance 
which  humbled  him  very  considera- 
bly, for  he  had  no  small  share  of 
self-love.  He  immediaiely  resolved 
that  he  would  try  and  learn,  so  as  to 
get  rid  of  the  disgrace  of  being  igno- 
rant. This  was  the  only  motive 
*hat  could  induce  him  to  l)oar  the 
'edicus  confinement  of  the  school, 
16  who  was  so  capricious,  so  self- 
«irilled,  and  so  fond  of  play.  Be- 
sides he  as  yet  knew  little  or  nothing 
of  what  a  school  really  was. 

When  Nicola  rang  the  bell  at  the 
Brothers'  school-house,  Benjamin's 
little  heart  began  to  beat  violently. 
They  wore  at  once  introduced  to  the 
Brother  Director,  and  to  him  the 
anxious  mother  related  all  that  con- 
corned  her  son,  without  either  palli- 
ation or  disguise.     While  his  mothci 


la 


BENJAMIN. 


81 


was  speaking,  the  little  fellow  kept 
his  eye  on  the  ;alm,  still  features  of 
the  Director,  who  with  eyes  cast 
ijown,  and  hands  joined  together, 
silently  listened  to  the  long  recital. 

"  You  see,  brother,"  added  Nicola 
in  conclusion,  ^^  you  see  this  child  is 
lost,  if  your  charity  and  good  in- 
structions do  not  change  his  heart, 
for  it  has  become  a  very  bad  one 
He  has  unfortunately  become  so 
wicked  that  there  is  great  reason  to 
fear  for  him  both  here  and  here- 
after." 

"  Alas !  Madam,"  replied  the 
Brother,  in  a  grave  and  penetrating 
voice,  "  we  are  well  accustomed  to 
see  the  children  who  are  confided  to 
us,  infected  with  numerous  vices, 
and  having  many  passions  to  be  re- 
fisted.  God  is  the  master  of  hearts, 
and   He  alone   can   change  them. 


82 


DENJAMIN. 


Let  US  both  pray  to  Him,  that  He 
may  bless  our  exertions,  iind  crown 
them  with  success.     For  us,  we  are 
but  the  feeble  instruments  of  wliom 
he  sometimes  luakcs  use  to  work  out 
his   benevolent    designs  ;    so    that, 
though  we  of  ourselves  are  nothing, 
we  are  yet  all-powerful  by  the  grace 
of  God.      How  many  miracles  do  we 
every  day  i>erform ! — Of  tlie  two  hun- 
dred children  who  attend  our  school, 
almost  everv  one  was  more  or  less 
spoiled  by  over-indulgence  at  home, 
and  there  are  scarcely  two  alike  in 
character  or  disposition.     'I'liese  chil- 
dren, so  impregnated  with   all  the 
vices  attendant  on  ignorance  and  low 
vulgarity;  so  hardened  in   iniquity 
imbibed  from  the  example  of  tlieir 
parents,  must  necessarily  be,  when 
taken  collectively,  one  mass  of  cor- 
ruption.    Is  it  not  then  a  miracle  of 


BENJAMin. 


83 


grace  to  see,  the  greater  number  of 
them  renouncing  the  past,  reforming 
their  lives  and  shunning  the  pestif- 
erous atmosphere  in  which  they  had 
previously  hved  ;  to  see  theui  even 
'jccoming  good  and  pious ;  and  ex- 
amples of  virtue  in  their  respective 
spheres. — Who  can  be  so  ungraleful, 
no  unjust,  so  impious  as  to  deny  that 
this  is  the  work  of  an  Onmipotent 
God] 

"All,  Brother!"  said  Nicola, 
"  how  much  trouble  must  it  cost  you, 
before  you  can  bring  about  such  a 
blessed  reformation!  What  watch- 
ful care  is  required,  and  how  weari- 
some it  nuist  be  to  struggle  ever  and 
ever  against  the  evil  passions  of  the 
children ! " 

*'  I  tell  you  again.  Madam !  that 
if  it  were  not  for  the  grace  of  God, 
our  cares,  our  nic^ssant  watch  fidness, 


M  BENJAMIN. 

and  our  zeal  would  all  prove  inetfec- 
lual    in   surmounting   ihe   obstacles 
thrown  in   our  way  uy  the    pupiU 
themselves,  and  still  more  by  iheir 
parents.     It  veryuflen  happens  that 
the  latter,  who,  l»y  their  fatal  cxair- 
pie,   have    helped   to  corrupt    their 
children,  do  still  continue  to  counter- 
act our  exertions  by  their  criminal 
mdidgence.     They  condemn  our  se- 
verity, heap  ridicule  upon  us,  and 
then  blame  us  when  their  children 
turn  out  badly.     Unwilling  to  admit 
that  either  themselves  or  their  chil- 
dren were  lo  blame,  they  throw  the 
whole  fault  on  us.     Now  the  truth 
is  that  this  counteracting  influence 
of  the  parents,  and  their  imprudent 
censure  of  tiie  teachers  in  presence 
of  their  children  are  the  greatest  ob- 
■tacles  in  the  way  of  thei.  improve- 
ment.    When  will  parents   under- 


BENJAMIN. 


85 


Stand  that  we  assume  tlieir  place, 
and  that  we  love  their  children  in 
Christ  Jesus,  as  they  love  theui  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  nature  1  When 
will  they  be  persuaded  that  as  their 
second  fathers,  we  must  have  the 
love,  and  respect  of  our  pupils,  if 
they  themselves  would  be  loved  and 
respected  by  them  ?  Would  to  God 
that  these  truths  were  more  generally 
known,  and  their  importance  better 
understood ! " 

"Brother!"  said  Nicola,  "I,  al 
least,  am  aware  of  their  importance, 
and  in  confiding  my  son  to  your  :are, 
I  not  only  promise  you  every  assist- 
ance I  can  render,  hut  1  give  up  all 
my  authority  into  your  hands.  My 
most  ardent  wish  is  to  see  Benjamin 
profit  by  your  instructions,  and  be 
come  a  good  boy." 

"  Oh  !  he  will,"  said  the  Brother 


i 


m 

hi 


."ii 


fi  I 


60 


BENJAMIN. 


"  I  will  answer  for  him.  Will  vou 
not,  my  little  friend,"  he  added, 
taking  Henjamin's  hand  between 
both  his,  "  Won't  you  be  very  wise, 
and  very  attentive  for  the  time  to 
come?'' 

Benjamin  made  no  answer,  but 
sat  witl)  his  head  hanging  on  his 
chest,  and  twisting  his  mouth  into 
all  sorts  of  shapes.  He  looked  for 
all  the  world  like  a  criminal  in  the 
stocks. 

The  Director  repeated  his  question 
in  a  mild,  sweet  voice,  and  then  came 
ou»  the  half-pronounced  words  slowly 
and  hesitatingly:   "  Yes — Brothtr.^^ 

As  far  as  being  attentive  went,  he 
really  inlended  to  keep  his  promise, 
but  to  promise  to  be  wise ! — Oh  !  that 
was  (juite  another  thing,  and  he  had 
never  yet  attempted  to  think. 

Meanwhile,  the  Director  contented 


BENJAMIN. 


87 


himself  with  tlie  promise  he  Imd  gul. 
He  coiuhicled  Nicola  very  politely 
to  the  door,  still  holding  BenjainiD 
hy    the   hand,  and    when    she    wui 
gone,  he  look  tin?  new  pupil  to  pre- 
sent him  to  the  Brother  who  was  to 
be  his  teacher.     Of  course  henjnmin 
was  placed  in  the  first  class,  hecansc 
he  had  to  learn  his  letters.     There 
was  fifty  or  sixty  hoys  in  the  class, 
t)iu  they  were  all  so  much  younger 
and  smaller  than  our  licnjamin  thai 
he  looked  like  d  little  old  grandfathei 
amongst   them    all.      Besides   there 
were  some  of  them  that  could  spell 
very  well,  and  others  were  hegin- 
ning  to  reail,  so  that  he  was  the  only 
one  at  A,  B,  C.     Truly  he  had  great 
reason  to  feel  mortified  and  humhled 
to  the  lowest  degree.     But  he  was 
not  without  the  means  of  consoling 
himself.     "  These  fellows,"  said  he, 


11 


m 


5-5 


08 


BENJAMIN 


to  himself,  "  have  nil  le;»i  tied  well, 
but  I'll  learn  Ijetter  than  any  of 
them,  and  unless  its  very  hard  to 
'^et  il  into  my  head,  I'll  soon  get 
before  them  all." 

This  idea  was  very  agreeable,  for 
Benjamin  had  a  great  fancy  for  be- 
ing the  best  \nt\n  on  every  occasion, 
80  he  quietly  took  his  place,  at  the 
foot  of  ihe  class,  looking  very  funny 
indeed  with  his  head  and  shoulders 
up  over  the  others,  who  were  spell- 
ing and  reading  so  well.  One  of 
the  children  having  deserved  some 
slight  punishment,  sturdily  refused 
to  submit.  He  was  then  punished 
more  severely  than  he  would  have 
been,  but  still  he  remained  obstinate. 
Our  Benjamin,  looking  on,  was  so 
angry  at  tiiis  disobedience,  that  he 
could  scarcely  restrain  h'mself.     At 


BBM  J  AMIir. 


89 


^ust,  when  he  saw  the  hulc  robe! 
ftaiiding  out  so  obstinately  ngninit 
his  teacher,   he    could   bear   it   no 
longer,  and  giving  way  to  his  natu- 
ral iinjietuosity,  iie  juiM|>ed  to  his 
feet,  and   called   out :    "  Wili   you 
obey  now,  you  rascal — will  you,  I 
say"?"     Instantly,  the  boys  all  burst 
out  laughing, and  the  master  himself 
could  scarcely  preserve  his  gravity= 
The  laugh  was  raised    louder  and 
louder   when  the   fiery    Benjamin, 
levelling  a  whole  rank  of  the  little 
fellows  to  get  at  the  offender,  laid 
hold  of  him  by  the  ear,  and  hauled 
him  up  to  the  Brother. 

This  incident  gave  rise  to  a  great 
deal  of  confusion.  Benjamin,  of 
course,  knew  nothing  of  the  rules  of 
tlie  house,  and  that  was  his  excuse, 
but  the  Brother  soon  made  him  ac- 


ml 


■-i.i 


■r;l 


u. 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


■  2^ 

1^ 

|3j2 

1^ 

IS 

u 

Ih 

III  2.0 

■iUU 


1.4 


1.8 


1.6 


_^  APPLIED  IM^GE    Inc 

S^  ^65^  East  Main  Street 

S'-a:  Rochester.  New  York        U609       USA 

'^SS  (716)  482 -0300 -Phone 

BBS  (716)  288  -  5989  -  Fax 


} 


90 


B  E  N  J  A  M  1  K  . 


>uainted  with  them.  He  premised 
very  faillifnlly  to  observe  them,  but 
ho  was  so  hasty  and  so  impulsive 
ihat  he  very  often  forgot  both  him- 
•elf  and  tlie  rules.  This  first  row 
was  not  the  only  one  he  kicked  up 
in  the  school.  Nevertheless  he  was 
so  attentive  and  so  anxious  to  learn 
that  his  whole  mind  was  bent  upon 
it,  and  he  was  thereby  preserved  from 
man^  foolish  tricks,  and  escaped  a 
food  deal  of  censure  and  punishment 
We  may  here  observe,  for  the  be- 
nefit of  our  little  readers,  that  they 
have  it  always  in  their  own  power 
both  to  please  their  masters  and  im- 
prove themselves.  Application  and 
love  of  study  surmount  all  obstacles. 
It  is  even  sufllicient,  if  one  be  well 
convinced  of  this  truth,  and  make 
lome  attempts  at  putting  it  in  prac* 


BENJAMIN 


91 


rice.  We  earnestly  entreat  the  chil- 
dren for  whom  we  write,  just  to 
make  a  lesolution  that  they  will  try 
to  apply  themselves  like  Benjamin, 
who  we  hope  will  soon  serve  as  on 
example  for  them  in  other  matten 
•8  well  ea  in  this  one 


itilti 


OHAPTBB  Tl. 

Benjamin  went  on  as  well  as 
could  be  expected,  and  indeed  far 
better.  It  is  tnie  that  he  was  still 
turbulent,  quarrelsome,  and  some- 
times even  rude  to  his  class-mates ; 
nor  did  he  agree  better  with  Rosel's 
children.  He  was  still  sly  and  mis- 
chievous, playing  numberless  tricks 
on  the  neighbors  all  around.  In 
short,  his  faults  called  loudly  for  cor- 
rection and  reformation ;  but,  on  the 


ji\ 


BKKJAMIV. 


93 


other  hand,  there  was  not  in  all  the 
school  a  boy  more  attentive  to  his 
lessons,  or  more  anxious  to  learn. 
So  rapid  was  his  pi  ogress  that  '.it  the 
end  of  some  seven  nr  eight  months 
he  was  able  to  read  pretty  well.  In 
this  respect  he  was  always  held  up 
as  an  example  for  the  other  boys, 
and  this  public  praise  so  flattering  to 
his  self-love,  encouraged  him  to  re- 
double his  exertions.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  at  the  end  of  the 
school-year  he  was  at  the  head  of 
his  class,  just  as  he  had  promised 
himself  that  he  would  be.  But  alas ! 
he  had  no  prize  to  get,  for  as  he  had 
been  quite  recently  removed  into  a 
new  class,  he  was  of  course  far  be- 
hind the  others.  When  the  distribu  • 
tion  came  on  he  was  quite  enraged. 
"Oh!  if  I  had  only  got  into  this 
class  three  months  sooner  than  I 


I    1: 


94 


BENJAMIN. 


1   i 


did!"  said  lie  to  himself  as  he  saw 
each  prize  given  out,  "you  would 
not  liave  had  that,  my  good  fellow !  " 
But  he  had  nothing  for  it  only  to  be 
as  resigned  as  possible. 

During  the  short  vacation  given 
by  the  Brothers — it  appeared  a  very 
long  one  to  our  friend  Benjamin ! — 
he  made  good  use  of  his  time,  spend- 
ing two  or  three  hours  every  day  in 
going  over  what  he  had  learned,  so 
as  to  keep  it  in  his  mind. 

The  remainder  of  the  day,  he 
was  employed  by  Rosel  to  help  the 
children  with  whatever  work  they 
had  in  hrnds.  It  was  then  that 
Benjamin's  evil  passions  were  most 
active,  and  there  was  not  a  day  ever 
passed  that  he  had  not  a  quarrel 
either  with  Rosel  or  some  of  his 
children.  If  the  father  was  absent, 
Benjamin  always  came  off   victo 


n  B  N  J  A  M  I  It  . 


9ft 


rious,  and  l>eat  the  three  httle  broth- 
ers; but  when  the  father  was  at 
home,  the  tables  were  turned  on 
hun,  and  he  was  sure  to  get  the 
worst  of  it,  for  Rosel  was  not  I  he 
most  pa:ient  man  in  the  world ;  and 
by  way  of  capital  punishment  Ben- 
jamin had  to  dine  and  sup  on  dry 
bread.  Nor  was  it  only  within  doors 
that  'he  little  pugihst  carried  on  his 
warf  c,  for  he  very  often  returned 
home  with  tiie  marks  of  conflict 
plainly  visible,  in  the  siiape  of  a 
black  eye,  a  scratched  or  bruised 
face,  or  clothes  torn  anil  dirty. 

These  pranks  were  not  unknown 
to  his  mother,  who  went  to  see  him 
OS  often  as  she  couki,  and  each  time 
she  saw  him,  she  gave  iiim  a  long 
lecture,  but  all  in  vain.  Tliis  was 
the  natural  efTect  of  the  early  train- 
ing" he  had  received,  as  first  impres- 


'M  I 


§6 


BKNJ AMIK. 


sions  are  ever  the  most  durable. 
Yet  stiU  his  conduct  was  a  little  bet- 
ter,  just  so  much  as  to  aflbrd  a  sha- 
dow of  hope.  Be  did  not  swear  at 
all  so  often  as  he  used  to  do,  and  he 
soon  got  over  the  fatal  habit  of  lying  i 
he  had  no  opportunity  for  indulging 
in  gluttony  at  RosePs  frugal  table, 
nor  could  he  at  all  practise  the  same 
affected  airs  in  the  carpenter's  work- 
shop that  he  us-^d  to  exhibit  in  the 
splendid  saloons  at  Mr.  Delor's.  In 
sliort,  Benjamin  gradually  grew  out 
of  those  bad  habits  which  he  had  con- 
tracted in  his  late  luxurious  home, 
and  there  only  remained  those  which 
were  natural  to  him.  Yet  even 
these  were  numerous — very  numer- 
ous, and  as  constitutional  and  cha- 
racteristic vices  are  more  tenacious, 
it  requires  a  greater  degree  of  energy 
and  a  stronger   resolution   to  keep 


BIN J  AMIV. 


VI 


ilium  in  order,  or  obtain  a  mastery 
over  them  —  Benjamin  had  not  as 
yet  attained  that  degree  of  perfection. 
The  classes  were  to  commence 
again  on  the  1st  of  October,  and  on 
that  day,  Benjamin  rr'-  .v!tb  tlie 
lark,  and  was  the  first  jr  the 

school-room.     Brothei  as,  his 

master,  nmt  him  in  ihe  yard,  nd 
was  not  at  all  surprised  to  see  hiiti  so 
pimctiial,  for  he  was  already  aware 
that  there  was  none  of  the  boys 
more  assiduous  in  fulfilling  his  duty, 
nor  more  anxious  to  profit  by  time. 
The  Brother  had  been  long  ago 
struck  by  his  prodigious  memory,  his 
very  imiisual  strength  of  intellect, 
and  his  extraordinary  love  of  study. 
He  had  also  remarked  Jie  extreme 
violence  of  his  passions,  and  his 
great  impetuosity.  Brother  Angelui 
from  his  long  experience,  knew  chil- 


hi" 


98 


BENJAMIN. 


(Iron  wril ;  nnd  \\o.  was  persuaded 
that  Benjamin,  willi  all  his  strange 
mixture  of  vices  and  virtues,  would 
one  day  do  credit  to  liis  teachers, 
botli  OS  a  scholar  and  a  Christian, 
provided  he  were  now  properly 
trained.  All  depended  on  taking 
him  in  hands,  and  losing  no  oppor- 
tunity of  forming  his  mind,  and  this 
task  the  good  Brother  cheerfully 
took  upon  himself.  He  began  by 
gaining  the  confidence  and  affection 
of  his  pupil,  and  that  was  not  hard 
to  accomplish,  as  Benjamin  being 
really  an  obedient  and  respectful 
pupil,  desirous  of  learning  all  that 
he  could,  was  naturally  disposed  to 
love  his  teacher.  And  how  well 
did  that  teacher  deserve  his  affection ' 
Brother  Angelus  was  about  thirty 
years  of  age.  He  was  tall  and  slen- 
der, and  his  mild,  pale  face  was  full 


BENJAMIN 


99 


of  sweetness,  being  the  rotlex  of  his 
spotless  soul.  His  face  was  shaded 
on  either  side  jy  light,  silken  hair, 
and  his  eyes  had  that  deep,  thought, 
ful  look  which  belongs  to  such  har- 
acters  as  h.  His  manners  ere 
polished  and  gentle,  just  fitted  to 
gain  for  him  the  good  will  of  child- 
ren. His  mind  was  richly  stored 
with  learning,  which  he  well  knew 
how  to  impart  to  others.  To  him- 
self  he  was  rigorous  in  the  extreme, 
but  to  others  he  was  kind  and  indul- 
gent. Great  and  arduous  and  inces- 
sant was  the  labor  he  had  to  undergo, 
but  his  patiepcc  and  his  cheerfulness 
were  proof  against  all  attacks  and  an 
sufTerings,  and  nothing  could  disturb 
the  serenity  of  his  mind.  In  a  word, 
it  would  have  been  difficu  t  to  find  a 
man  more  truly  estimable  under  every 
point  of  view,  or  better  adapted  to 


•"•^w^ 


^f» 


100 


BEIT  J  A  MI 


fulfil  the  sacred  and  onerous  func- 
tions of  his  office. 

Benjamin  then  had  taken  a  great 
liking  lo  Brother  Angel  us,  who  on 
his  part  took  a  sincere  interest  in  the 
wayward  boy.  Yet  their  affc;ction 
was  of  a  very  different  nature,  and 
had  very  different  objects  in  view. 

The  pupil  regarded  his  master 
simply  as  a  learned  and  an  engag- 
ing man,  who  was  to  initiate  him 
into  the  secrets  of  knowledge,  and 
thus  gratify  his  predominant  passion. 
The  master,  on  the  contrary,  justly 
distrusting  a  desire  so  inordinate, 
which  was  founded  solely  on  pride, 
was  sensible  of  the  importance  of 
giving  his  mind  a  proper  tendency, 
R,nd  basing  his  education  on  sound 
principles.  He  saw  that  unless  his 
minu  was  early  trained  an  J  accustom 
ed  to    .  salutary  restrair.t  tiiere  was 


it 


BENJ  AMI M. 


10) 


lillle  hope  for  liini  in  the  future.  He 
knew  that  wilh  such  e\  il  propensities 
as  the  hoy  then  h«iJ,  any  knowledge 
which  he  might  acquire,  without  tii« 
sanctifying  nnil  refining  influence  of 
reliffion,  would  he  in  all  prohahility 
more  hurtful  than  heneficial  to  soci- 
ety from  the  great  superiority  of  his 
talents.  This  conviction  placed  him 
on  his  guard,  and,  being  well  aware 
that  Benjamin  would  always  he  sure 
to  make  a  rapid  progress  in  his  stud- 
ies,  he  attended  chiefly  to  his  moral 
training,  giving  his  most  sedulous 
care  to  the  development  of  his  affec- 
tions, and  the  directions  of  his  senti- 
ments. 

Yet  the  good  Brother  did  not  al- 
ways meet  with  that  success  which 
he  had  a  right  to  expect.  Anothei 
8chool-)^ear  gilded  away  without  pro- 
ducing any  decided  improvement  in 


(02 


BEKJAMIK 


iti 


Benjamin's  character.  It  is  true  he 
was  greatly  chahged,  so  far  as  out- 
ward appearance  went.  He  was  then 
entering  on  his  tentli  year,  and  from 
his  size  he  might  well  have  passed 
for  a  boy  of  thirteen  or  fourteen 
And  then  his  intelligence  was  far  in 
advance  of  his  age,  for  his  natural 
talents  being  seconded  by  the  closest 
application,  he  had  long  since  out- 
stripped all  his  school-mates.  He 
had  indeed  many  advantages  pecu- 
liar to  himself ;  such  for  instance,  as 
an  excellent  understanding,  a  certain 
i  fliring  turn  of  mind  which  prompt- 
Ud  him  to  examine  every  subject 
that  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  and 
finally,  a  happy  knack  of  only  bur- 
thening  his  memory  with  what  was 
really  worth  retaining.  Hence  it 
was  that  with  him  learning  any  thing 
was  the  direct  exer:ise  of  his  judg- 


BENJAMIN. 


103 


Dient,  based  on  tlie  desire  of  acquir- 
ing kiiowledge  that  was  really  valu- 
able. Willie  his  comrades  committed 
to  memory  a  string  of  mere  words, 
he  fathomed  and  laid  hold  of  the 
ideas  they  suggested.  It  was  for  in- 
stance very  little  for  him  to  learn  a 
few  rules  of  grammar ;  he  must  also 
compare  them  with  all  those  which 
had  any  relation  to  them,  and  assign 
to  eacli  one  its  place  in  the  funda- 
mental precepts  of  the  language. 
In  a  word,  he  made  it  a  point  to 
study  every  thing  in  all  its  various 
bearings. 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  a 
pupil  thus  distinguished  attracted 
considerable  attention  at  the  public 
examinations,  and  that  he  obtained 
more  prizes  than  any  other  boy  in 
bis  class.  It  excited  no  small  surprise 
to  hear  a  bov  who  twenty  monthf 


104 


BKKJAMIK. 


before,  when  he  entered  the  schoOi 
knew  not  a  single  letter,  now  an- 
swering every  question  so  clearly 
and  correctly.  In  fact  people  would 
scarcely  believe  it,  as  I  am  just  going 
to  prove  by  an  incident  which  occur- 
red about  the  time  we  are  speaking  of. 
If  Benjamin  had  his  faults,  he  had 
also  many  virtues,  and  amongst  these 
was  gratitude.  He  had  never  for- 
gotten Mr.  Delor's  kindness  to  him, 
and  he  resolved  to  testify  his  lively 
gratitude  in  a  way  that  should  con- 
found that  gentleman's  prejudice 
against  the  Brothers.  Mr.  Delor's 
birth-day  was  the  feast  of  St.  Man- 
rice,  the  22nd  of  September,  and 
Benjamin  thought  he  would  give  him 
a  surprise.  Without  saying  a  word 
to  any  one,  he  wrote  a  complimen- 
tary note  in  his  very  best  style.  Be- 
tides that,  as  he  knew  a  little  of  lineal 


BBKJAMIN. 


105 


drawing,  he  undertook  to  ornament 
the  note  with  a  view  of  the  front  of 
the  merchant's  house,  and  he  sue- 
ceeded  to  admiration.     At  length  St. 
Maurice's  day  came,  and  Benjamin, 
as  well  dressed  as  his  scanty  ward- 
robe would  permit,  presented  him- 
self at  Mr.  Delor's  door,  and  timidly 
asked  to  see  the  master.     Being  in- 
stantly  admitted,  he  presented  his 
note  and  his  drawing  with  a  trem- 
bling hand.     The  merchant  exam- 
ined both  with  great  attention,  and 
then  asked  whose  work  they  were, 
but  when  Benjamin  modestly  replied 
that  they  were  his,  he  could  not  be- 
lieve him.     He  then  began  to  ques- 
tion him,  and  after  half  an  hour's 
close  examination,  declared  himself 
perfectly  astonished  at  the  progress 
he  had  made.     All  those  prejudices 
■gainst  the  Brothers  and  their  method 


I'  i:'  f 


!  PI  '• 


100 


BENJAMIN. 


of  teaching  which  he  had  adopted 
from  the  newspapers,  suddenly  gave 
way  hefore   this  incontestible  fact, 
yet  Mr.  Delor,  Hke  ail  those  who 
wilfully  shut  their  eyes  ngainst  proof, 
would  by  no  means  give  up  hi?  opin- 
ion.    Still,  he  was  deeply  touched 
by  this  mark  of  respect  and  attention, 
and  willingly  took  Benjamin  back 
into  favor.     '*  Here,  my  little  fel- 
low ! "  said  he,  "  here  is  twelve  francs 
for  you.     I  am  well  pleased  with 
your  attention   to  your  studies,  as 
proved  by  the  progress  you  have 
maue.    You  can  come  and  dine  here 
during  the  vacation.     Go  on  as  you 
are  doing,  and    depend  upon  my 
friendship ! " 

Benjamin  was  overjoyed  at  having 
80  large  a  sum  in  his  purse,  and  still 
more  that  he  h-ad  been  restored  to 
the  good  graces  of  his  benefactor. 


=1 


B&K J AMIX. 


107 


He  chiefly  valued  the  invitaticn  he 
had   received  as   afTording  him  an 
opportunity  of  becoming  reconciled 
U)  Mrs.  Delor  and  Meriadec.     But 
they  were  then  at  Vichy,  where  they 
always  spent  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber, for  the  purpose  of  drinking  the 
^ater.     The  worst  of  it  was  that  by 
he  time  they  got  back,  the  vacation 
would  be  over,  and  poor  Benjamin 
obliged  to  return  to  school. 
But  after  all  the  prospect  of  going  to 
school  again  was  to  him  a  pleeim 
one,  for  his  numerous  prizes  were  all 
80  many  new  motives  of  encourage- 
ment.    The  life  of  constant  appli- 
cation which  he  had  latte»-'y  led,  had 
considerably  repressed,  if  it  had  not 
entirely  extinguished   his  passions. 
Brother  Angelus  had  been  an  active 
agent  in  this  great  struggle,  helping 
^im  to  combat    all   those  internaJ 


.1 

if 


108 


BEKJAHIN. 


enemies,  and  avail  himself  cf  every 
opportimity  for  reforming  his  morals. 
As  for  Benjamin,  he  wanted  only 
the  slrengtli  and  tlie  grace  to  make 
a  firm  resolution,  and  that  the  good 
Brother  tried  to  bring  about.  But 
unfortunately  he  could  not  give  his 
whole  t'.me  to  any  one  pupil,  since 
all  had  the  same  right  to  liis  care  and 
attention.  Never  had  the  labor  cf 
teaching  been  greater  than  it  was  that 
year,  for  the  number  of  pupils  in- 
creased to  nearly  three  hundred,  ex- 
clusive of  the  adult  evening  classes, 
and  they  were  nearly  as  numerous. 
And  there  were  no  more  than  three 
Brothers  for  nearly  six  hundred  pu- 
pils; so  it  can  easily  be  imagined 
what  a  laborious  life  was  theirs. 
They  became  fairly  exhausted  with 
fatigue,  and  Brother  Angelus,  who 
was  naturally  of  a  delicate  constitii 


BKN'AMIK. 


lOf 


tion,  was  speedily  attacked  with  a 
pulmonary  disease  which  set  in  with 
very  alarming  symptoms.     He  was 
at  length  forced  to  give  up  his  wea- 
risome labors,  and  content  himself, 
until  the  arrival  of  a  provisional  sub- 
stitute, with  keeping  an  eye  to  the 
class  and    hearing    the  catechism. 
This  last  duty  brought  him  closely 
in  contact  with  Benjamin.     Being 
obliged  to  give  long  explanations  so 
as  to  make  the  children  understand 
the  meaning  and  catch  the  spirit  of 
the  fundamental  precepts  of  religion, 
he  sometimes  entered  into  little  dia- 
logues with  his  pupils  on  those  sub- 
jects, in  pursuance  of  his  own  pur- 
pose. 

Though  my  young  readers  might 
derive  much  profit  from  these  inter- 
esting conversations,  yet  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  repeat  them      I  shall 


^'■ii 


P 

i>  ■ 


mm 


no 


B1NJAMI9. 


merely  show  in  the  following  chap- 
ter the  subject  matter  of  one  of  the 
most  important.  By  Benjamin  at 
least  it  was  never  forgotten,  for  it 
was  that  very  dialogue  that  opened 
his  eyes  and  chiefly  contributed  to 
effect  a  change  m  his  sentiments — a 
change  which  though  not  very  per- 
ceptible at  flrst,  was  doomed  to  bt 
permanent  and  sincere. 


m 


aHAPTBk   Vli 

$i^  EcformatioQ. 

Brother  Angel  us  was  explaining 
the  thirteenth  lesson  of  tiie  Cate- 
chism which  teaclies  that  t/ie  surest 
mark  of  a  firm  purpose  of  sinning 
no  more,  is  to  take  means  to  correct 
evil  habits  and  to  effect  an  entire 
atange  of  life. 

This  important  subject  led  to  a 
discourse  on  Conversion,  or  llie  Sin- 
ner's Return  to  Goil.  Tiie  pious 
teacher  profited  by  the  opportunity 
to  exi)lain  to  his  youthful  hcarert 


112 


D  E  N  J  A  M  I  N. 


tliat  Conversion,  in  order  to  be  lasu 
iii»(,  sliMuKI  be  prcmpi,  sincere,  an«l 
entire  ;  prompt^  because  tlie  sinnn.T, 
while  separuted  from  bis  God,  abuses 
liis  daily  measure  of  grace  and  may 
thus  draw  do  vn  upon  himself  the 
wrath  of  Heaven ;  bec.iuse  it  is  the 
part  of  a  fool  to  remain  indilFercnl 
to  the  danger  which  surrounds  him  ; 
ecause  it  is  the  most  fearful  rashness 
lo  continue  in  a  state  of  sin,  without 
making  an  effort  tc  overcome  it. 
Tlie  conversion  must  also  be  sincere^ 
dial  is  to  say  without  any  lurking 
regret  for  the  life  one  has  (piiited, 
and  without  any  disgust  for  titat  just 
entered  upon ;  without  dividing  the 
heart  between  God  and  man;  be- 
t ivecn  duties  and  pleasures  ;  between 
religious  practices  and  bad  habits. 
Finally,  the  conversion  should  be 
entircj  that  is  to  say,  a  -eturn  of  the 


BKV  J  AMIir. 


lis 


i^hole  heart  to  God,  with  all  its  feel- 
ings and  affections,  an  absolute  sa- 
crifice of  all  earthly  attachments,  a 
complete  detachment  from  the  joy> 
of  the  world,  and  rending  asunder 
all  the  bonds  of  sin. 

Going  on  to  speak  of  the  difficul- 
ties of  conversion,  it  was  very  easy 
to  prove  that  by  far  the  greater 
number,  such  as  the  violence  o»'  the 
passions,  the  force  of  bad  habits,  and 
the  predominance  of  vicious  inclina- 
tions, were  not  insurmountable,  with 
the  grace  of  God,  and  the  firm  reso- 
lution of  giving  up  the  heart  to 
Him.  With  respect  to  the  other  ob- 
stacles, such  as  the  shame  of  chang- 
ing the  course  of  life,  hesitating 
about  undertaking  it,  putting  it  oflf 
from  one  time  to  another,  the  dejec- 
tion arising  from  the  first  fruitless 
efforts,  all  these  Brother   Angelus 


114 


B  B  N  J  A  M  I  M. 


m 


ft 


if! 


considered  as  very  triding  obf'acles, 
and  very  easy  to  surmount.  "  Bo. 
sides,''  he  added,  "these  difficuU 
ti***.  my  children,  ^:ome  not  from 
God,  as  you  see  very  plainly.  They 
are  our  own  work,— the  natural  con- 
sequence of  our  neglect  of  God,  of 
our  ingratitude  towards  Him,  and  of 
our  departure  from  Jus  service ;  they 
are  the  effect  of  our  corrupt  inclina- 
tions, and  the  vicious  habits  in  which 
we  live.  It  is  we  ourselves,  then, 
who  have  erected  a  barrier  between 
the  Lord  and  us.  It  is  we  who  have 
fortified  that  barrier,  surrounding  it 
with  all  that  could  make  it  strong 
and  insurmountable.  God  has  had 
nothing  to  do  with  this  senseless  and 
criminal  deed,  so  that  the  blame  is 
altogether  our  own.  On  the  con- 
trary that  good  Father  has  never 
ceajcd   to  call   us  back  with   out- 


n  B  N  J  A  M  I  N 


116 


itretclied  nrms ;  and  when  he  nt  lost 
averts  his  fac?  *"rom  us,  it  is  because 
we  have  audaciously  |)ersisted  in  of- 
fending Him.  Such  being  the  case, 
how  can  we  dare  impute  to  Him 
the  obstacles  which  oppose  our 
conversion." 

Having  thus  explained  the  diffi- 
culties of  conversion,  Brother  Ange- 
lus  proceeded  to  show  his  pupils  the 
best  means  of  getting  rid  of  them. 

The  (Irst  and  surest  is  to  keep  a 
deaf  ear  both  to  the  promptings  of 
our  own  weak  nature,  and  the  perfi- 
dious suggestions  of  the  arch-enemy, 
which  by  exaggerating  the  sliame 
and  the  trouble  of  a  return  to  God, 
exposes  us  to  lose  the  grace  and  the 
desire  of  conversion.  The  second, 
perhaps  just  as  important,  is  to  make 
choice  of  a  wise  and  prudent  director ; 
to  lay  open  to  him  the  secrets  of  the 


116 


BKNJAMIl*. 


heart ;  to  follow  his  advice  in  every 
particular,  and   to   obey  his  orders 
without   pausing   to   examine  their 
meaning,  for  lo  him   it  belongs  to 
fathom  the  depths  of  the  soul,  and 
apply   the    remedies   proper   to   its 
various  diseases.     Thirdly,  we  must 
always  accustom  oiirselvt;s  to  walk 
in  the  presence  of  God,  frequently 
0  pronounce    his   holy  name,  and 
those  of  the  Virgin  and  'he   child 
Jesus ;  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross 
very  often,  especially  when  attacked 
by  temptation,  and  finally  to  raise 
the  heai.  *o  God  by  some  ejnculatory 
prayer.     These  practices  of  devo- 
tion, simple  as  J^ey  are,  cannot  fail 
to    produce     the    happiest    results. 
"Try  them,  my  youiiir   friends!" 
concluded   Brother  Angrfus,   "  Re- 
turn to  that  God  who  i     o  good,  and 
•o  merciful.     Detest  that  portion  of 


■H 


I 


BENJAMIN 


11' 


your  life  which  has  not  been  conse. 
crated  to  Him,  and  put  off  your  con- 
version no  longer.  And,  after  all, 
what  is  this  conversion  1  It  is  living 
as  a  Christian  should,  becouiing  a 
worthy  child  of  the  Church  and  a 
faithful  servant  of  God,  in  thought, 
in  word,  and  in  deed.  Yes,  my 
children,  a  Christian  is  one  who  be- 
lieves and  professes  the  law  of 
Christ.  And  is  not  this  just  what 
one  does  when  sincerely  converted  ? 
He  recalls  to  his  mind  the  belief  so 
long  neglected .  From  being  a  trans- 
gressor of  the  law  he  becomes  its 
faithful  observer,  and  once  more  his 
soul  is  filled  with  the  precious  vir- 
tues of  faith,  hope,  and  love.  Ah  ! 
children !  do,  I  implore  you,  have 
the  courage  to  be  Christians !  Re- 
turn to  the  paternal  embrace  of  your 
good   Father  in  heaven.      Make  a 


i 

Wbm 

mk 

t  itSI 

H^S 

i' 

» 

t. 

rr 

jii 


118 


BENJAMIN 


firm  resolution  to  reform  your  lives, 
to  struggle  against  your  ftiilings ;  to 
acquire  the  virtues  in  wliicli  you  are 
deficient.  Do  this,  and  you  will 
find  how  sweet  it  is  to  love  and  serve 
the  Lord.  How  I  should  like  to  se«s 
a  holy  emulation  established  amongst 
you !  for,  be  assured,  that  he  who 
first  resigns  his  heart  to  God  will  be 
the  happiest  of  all ! " 

Such  conversations  as  this  could 
not  fail  to  produce  a  lively  effect  on 
the  minds  of  the  listeners.  Even 
the  most  careless  and  dissipated  boys 
were  deeply  touched,  and  their  con- 
duct underwent  a  wonderful  change. 
In  fact  the  whole  school  was  sud- 
denly metamorphosed,  and  it  waa  a 
sight  worthy  of  heaven,  to  see  a 
hundred  little  children  displaying 
the  most  angelic  piety,  and  the  most 
Mssiduoas  application,  watching  care- 


1 


!fii 


BENJAMIN 


119 


Ailly  over  th^ir  every  action,  and 
consei^raiing  to  God  both  their  toils 
and  pleasures. 

But  there  was  none  amongst  them 
all  so  remarkable  as  Benjamin.  No 
longer  wa?  lie  obstinate,  quarrel- 
some, or  refractory  ;  but  mild,  mod- 
est, patient,  civil  and  polite  to  every 
one.  Following  implicitly  the  ad- 
vice of  Brother  Angelus,  he  placed 
himself  at  once  under  the  direction 
of  a  discreet  confessoi,  who  taught 
him,  by  degrees,  to  subdue  his  pas- 
sions and  to  root  o'lt  all  his  evil 
propensities.  He  continued  to  ap- 
ply himself  more  closely  than  ever, 
and  his  success  was,  of  course,  pro- 
portionate to  his  application,  but  his 
intentions  were  no  longer  the  same. 
He  was  no  longer  actuated  by  self- 
love  or  by  the  vain  desire  of  excel- 
ling others ;  a  sense  of  duty    waa 


M 


a 


,#}! 


i 


:A': 


130 


BBN  J  All  IN. 


:    I' 


lif 


now  his  motive  of  action,  for  he  had 
found  out  that  the  first  of  virtues  is 
the  exact  fulfilment  of  the  duties  of 
Oiir  state,  and  that,  wiiile  fulfilling 
them,  we  show'  .  ever  have  the 
intention  of  beconn'ng  better  and 
happier. 

Yet  the  entire  conversion  of  our 
young  hero  was  not  effected  without 
many  severe  struggles.  He  found  it 
no  easy  matter  to  ente.  upon  a  new 
course  of  life,  entirely  opposed  to  all 
his  previous  habits.  Many  a  time 
was  he  driven  back  by  the  force  of 
habit,  and  so  often  did  he  find  his 
good  resolutions  inefifectual,  that  he 
began  to  despair  of  ever  being  able 
to  effect  the  desired  reformation. 
But  Brother  Angelus  was  near; 
Brother  Angelus  who  saw  his  posi- 
tion, read  his  inmost  soul,  and  in- 
Hpirefl  him  with  renewed  energy,  the 


BSK  J  JlHIV. 


12i 


effect  of  new  and  more  sanguine 
hope.  And  at  last  Benjamin  iu- 
umphed  over  all,  and,  taking  for  hi? 
model  the  divine  child  Jesus,  he 
endeavored  to  imitate  Him,  and  to 
grow  like  Him,  as  the  Scripture  says, 
in  wisdom  as  in  age  before  God  and 
man. 

How  rejoiced  was  Nicola  when 
she  thus  saw  her  most  cherished 
hope  realised  ;  —  how  her  heart 
bounded  with  love  and  with  grati- 
tude when  she  at  lengtli  beheld  {"it 
son  all  that  she  could  desire,  all  that 
even  his  father  could  have  wished ! 
How  fervently  did  she  thank  God 
for  having  bestowed  upon  her  such 
a  signal  favor,  and  liow  ?'  ap- 
plauded herself  for  having  \  Aed 
in  sending  Benjamin  to  the  Brothers! 
She  had  now  the  consolation  of  see- 
ing her  son  every  day,  as  her  mis- 


ti''i 


■ 


M 


123 


BENJAMIN 


tress  had  become  so  infirm  thai  she 
could  no  longer  go  to  the  country  in 
the  summer.       Moreover,  she    liad 
soon  the  gratification  of  seeing  Ma- 
dam Dubac  take  quite   a   fancy  to 
Benjamin,  w'lo  had  indeed  become 
very  attentive  and  respectful  to  the 
old  lady.     As  soon  as  liie  school  was 
dismissed,  instead  of  running  olf  lo 
play  as  he  used  to  do,  he  now  went 
straight  to  his  mother,  to  help  her 
with  her  work,     oometimes  he  read 
for  the  old  lady  (who  had  become 
nearly  blind)  either  a  chapter  of  the 
Imitation  of  Christ,  or   the    life   of 
me  Saint  to  whom  the  day  was  con- 
secrated.     By  this  means   he  soon 
became  a  favorite  with  Madam  Du- 
bac, whose  affection  for  him  grew 
every  day  stronger,  till  at  last  she 
could  not  spare   him  even  for  one 
day,  and   requested   his   mother   to 


L 


!=-T-rTP5r 


BENJAMIN. 


123 


bring  him  home  to  livo  with  ihem. 


This  was  a 


joy 


fill  I 


it'ariiiff 


for  Ii 


IS 


mollicr,  wlio   had  been    obhgeil  to 
spend  the  greater  pjirl  of  her  carn- 


mg  paymg  ins  i>oaru.  Denjaniin, 
too,  was  well  pleased  with  this  new 
arrangement,  and  he  thanked  God 
for  having  inspired  Madam  Dubac 
with  so  benevolent  an  idea.  He 
could  not  help  reflecting  on  the  dif- 
ference between  a  bad  and  a  good 
child ;  how  the  one  is  despised  and 
detested,  while  the  other  is  caressed 
and  loaded  with  kindness.  And  this 
thought  should  excite  all  children 
to  endeavor  to  gain  the  aflect'on  of 
every  one  about  them. 


t 


n 


CHAPTER  VIII 

tf  jiB  (0raniinar  Inmu 

Benjamin  was  not  slow  in  avail- 
ing  himself  of  Mr.  Delor's  invitation, 
and  he  regularly  spent  the  Sundays 
and  Thursdays,  indeed  all  the  holy- 
days  at  his  house.  He  found  Meri- 
adec  just  the  same  proud  capricious 
boy  he  had  ever  been,  but  still 
warmly  attached  to  him.  He  was, 
therefore,  kindly  welcomed  by  his 
former  comrade,  who  told  him  in 
confidence  that   he  was  very  un- 


^ 


JIK    .  '■■-■.V,- 


.■,.J.\i-'\.a-.-   -r^  JUl 


BIN  J  A  M  I  N. 


ISA 


happy.  His  father  iiad  engaged  a 
master  to  instruct  liim  in  elementary 
science,  until  such  tunc  as  he  '\'ai 
okl  enough  to  gr  ")  college.  Meri- 
adec  wanted  to  have  no  master,  but 
for  the  first  time,  his  will  was  dis- 
puted, and  it  was  his  father^s  turn 
to  say  "  You  must  !  "  Meriacieo 
had  at  first  tried  to  tire  the  master 
out  by  obstinate  disobedience,  but 
bis  master  was  a  very  severe  man, 
and  gave  him  many  a  good  drubbing 
to  enforce  his  commands,  so  that 
here  again  Meriadec  was  told  you 
must  do  ity  and  had  nothing  for  it 
but  obedience.  For  a  month  past, 
as  Meriadec  sadly  complained,  he 
bad  been  obliged  to  do  what  he  was 
bid,  and  he  was  fairly  sick  of  it. 
Still  he  dared  not  disobey,  for  hit 
fiither  had  told  him  sternly  that  he 
would  be  obeyed,  and  the  master, 


ni 


196 


BB  W  J  A  MI  N. 


on  his  side,  never  overlooked  u  sin* 
pie  faiiit. 

The  hickless  Meriadec  lipted  most 
cordially  the  lessons  which  he  could 
not  understand,  and  the  professor— 
who,  having  been  accustomed  only 
to  teach  advanced  pupils,  took  no 
trouble  to  smooth  the  way  for  a  child's 
first  steps  in  learning.  It  generally 
happened  that  flie  child  did  not  un- 
derstand one  word  of  tho  instructions 
he  received,  for  the  master  just 
talked  to  him  as  he  wou.d  to  a  grown 
up  man  of  finished  education.  The 
consequence  was  that  the  more  he 
taught,  the  more  confused  did  the 
boy's  ideas  become,  for  he  under- 
stood neither  the  words,  nor  the  sub- 
jecls,  nor  their  connexion  with  each 
other.  At  last  poor  Meriadec  des- 
paired of  learning  anything,  for  sev- 
eral months  had  passed  and  instead 


,„.^.J-;.^..L.I-LU......    ,1 


BBir  J  AMIW. 


l&f 


of  making  nny  progress,  he  found 
himself  completely  bewildered,  ani! 
his  mind  one  gloomy  chaos  without 
a  ray  of  light.  His  father,  thinking 
that  the  fault  was  still  his  own,  treat- 
ed him  very  harshly,  and  threatened 
still  greater  severity  for  the  time  to 
come. 

Every  time  that  Benjamin  went 
there  he  found  Meriadec  in  tears, 
and  had  to  listen  to  a  long  string  of 
grievances,  in  the  shape  ?f  severe 
punishments  which  he  had  to  under- 
go since  his  last  visit.  It  was  in 
vain  thit  Benjamin  tried  to  adviae 
him,  and  to  explain  some  of  the 
most  difficult  parts  of  his  lessons; 
these  explanations  might  help  him 
in  those  particular  lessons,  but  iicn 
the  morrow  was  sure  to  bring  still 
greater  difficulties.  In  order  lo  get 
over  all  these  obstacles,  it  was  agreed 


I 


iffll 


11 


ti 


188 


B  2  R  /  A  M  I  N  . 


between  llic  frientis  tliat  Ben  ninm 
slioulcl  begin  iinUnown  u  any  Inn 
llieniselvos  a  regular  course  of  in- 
struclions,  for  Benjann'n  was  well 
ac(|uaiated  wiih  the  first  principles 
of  mathematics,  grninmar,  and  linear 
drawing,  and  liiesn  were  all  that 
Meriadec  had  atteinpled.  The  se- 
cret lessons  were  at  on  •«  commenc- 
ed. Meriadec  listent.  ^ocility 
and  attention,  and,  for  ti  'me, 
understood  what  lie  heard,  lor  his 
young  te?cher  was  methodical,  and 
precise,  and  very  simple  in  his  lan- 
guage, making  use  of  no  scientific 
terms.  In  three  or  four  lessons, 
Meriadec  learned  the  principles  of 
the  four  first  rules ;  mysteries  which 
four  months  of  hard  labor  with  the 
aid  of  a  first-rate  master,  had  not 
enabled  him  to  understand. 

Tiiifi  first  Riep  gained,  hi  next 


•'i:  I. -^-^-vv.r  ,-:  ^ 


^mp 


'V^WtT. 


B  EN  J  A  MIK 


19f 


learned  ihe  elements  of  linear  draw- 
ing. Thanks  to  the  geometrical 
terms  used  by  his  master,  lie  had 
Bot  the  slightest  conception  of  what 
wni,  ncant  by  surfaces^  lines^  and 
points ;  now,  he  not  only  learned 
all  that  in  a  few  hours,  but  it  came 
so  easy  to  him  that  he  was  quite 
surprised  and  delighted.  Tlic  recti- 
linear figures^  the  quadrilaters,  the 
polygons,  and  all  the  other  abom- 
inably hard  words  which  used  to 
frighten  him  so,  became  very  pretty, 
and  very  easy  words  when  once  he 
was  made  to  understand  their  exact 
meaning. 

It  was  just  the  same  with  the 
grammar ;  of  which  Meriadec  knew 
nothing  whatever,  except  a  string 
of  names,  and  a  few  definitions  which 
he  had  learned  by  rote,  without  one 
idea  as  to  thr"r  Tieaning.     I  will  jusi 


:    ■Irl 


130 


BENJAMIN 


give  this  interesting  scene  as  Benja 
min  gave  it,  because  I  know  it  will 
be  very  useful  to  my  young  readers, 
and  also  to  show  Benjamin's  method 
of  teaching.     The  two  friends  were 
sitting  in  a  pretty  summer-house  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  garden,  and 
who  should  be  lying  on  a  sofa  in  the 
other  little  room  but  Mr.  Delor,  who 
had  been  sleeping  until  the  sound 
of  the  voices  woke  him  up.     After 
listening  for  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  De- 
lor became   very  much  interested, 
and    listened    attentively    to     the 
whole    conversation.      The    lesson 
commences.* 

Meriadec—HcigUol  This  is  Uie 
day  for  that  abominable  Mr.  Lho^ 

•  Children  may  be  made  to  commit  this  /it- 
tie  Kene  to  memory,  go  that  they  may  repeat 
it  at  the  examination,  with  some  trifling  sJter. 
•tionc 


im 


B  B  V  J  A  M  I  N 


131 


mond,  who  has  so  often  tormented 
me  with  his  nonsensical  grammar, 
and  I'm  sure  he  might  as  well  be 
talking  about  magic,  for  all  I  under- 
stand of  it. 

Benjamin. — Perhaps  the  fault  is 
not  altogether  his.  We  are  now 
going  to  consider  the  general  struc- 
ture of  the  language,  and  then  after- 
wards we'll  come  down  to  the  par- 
ticiilar  details.  It  is  important  to 
consider  grammar  in  its  general  out- 
lines, for  when  they  are  well  under- 
stood, all  the  rest  is  easily  learned. 
First  of  all  let  us  define  grammar. 

Meriadec. — Grammar  is  the  art  of 
speaking  and  writing  correctly. 

Benjamin. — Well !  speaking  and 
writing  are  very  common  things ; 
but,  you  see,  they  become  an  art 
when  we  speak  and  write  correctly, 
that  is  to  say,  according  to  the  rules 


;  t 

I.- 


^i 


182 


BENJAMIN. 


of  grammar.  Before  we  go  on  to 
these  rules,  let  us  consider  the  char- 
acters  or  signs  used  in  lliis  art — these, 
you  know,  are  called  letters. 

Meriadec. — And  there  are  '.v^ 
sorts  of  letters,  vowels  and  consonants. 

Benjamin. — You  must  remember 
that  the  five  vowels,  or  letters  whirh 
have  a  perfect  sound  of  their  own, 
0,  u  and  then  there  a'-e 


are  a. 


e,  t, 


two  others,  w  and  y,  which  are  vow- 
els when  they  begin  a  word  or  syl- 
lable. The  other  letters  are  all  con- 
8onants,  or  letters  which  cannot  bo 
sounded  without  the  aid  of  a  vowel 

Meriadec. — Oh  !  I  know  that  very 
well.  And  I  also  know  that  these 
letters  go  to  make  words,  and  words 
to  make  phrases.  The  worst  of  it 
is,  that  I  am  not  able  to  explain  how 
all  this  happens. 

Benjamin.—  And  yet  there  is  noth- 


BEKJAMI9. 


133 


>!: 


irg  more  easy.  For  example,  in 
the  plirase  :  /  love  God,  the  letters  /, 
I,  o,  V,  e,  G,  0,  d,  when  put  together, 
make  up  the  words  /  love  God,  and 
the  three  words  form  a  perfect  phrase 
or  sentence. 

Meriadec— Ah  !      1     understaL 
now.     With  the  letters  /,  A,  e,  c,  a, 
i,  in,  e,  w,  5,  I  form  three  words  the 
cat   mews,   and   those    three    words 
make  a  sentence. 

Benjamin. — Just  so.  All  senten- 
ces are  composed  of  words,  and  all 
words  of  letters.  We  are  now  going 
to  distmguish  three  things :  1st.  the 
Utters,  or  the  vowels  and  consonants, 
of  which  we  have  spoken  ;  2nd. 
words  ;  and  3rd.  phrases,  of  which 
we  have  yet  to  speak. 

Meriadec. — Ah!  1  must  pay  at- 
tention, so  as  to  understand  it  all. 

Benjamin.— The  words  of  every 


in 

>  !f 
*,, 

'if 


«ii=: 


H. 


ft 


i>  'I 


■.  i 


J 


4i- 
3r 


■  1 ' 

■  Vi 


134 


BENJAMIN. 


i,' 


i 


I-- 


ill 


language  aro  very  niunerous,  and 
proportionate  to  the  requirements  of 
those  who  speak  it.  They  are  con- 
ventional signfj  *'.<at  is  to  say,  signs 
to  which  certain  meanings  are  at- 
tached, and  which  are  used  to  con- 
vey parti  ular  icieas. 

Meriadec. — I  should  like  to  hear 
you  explain  that. 

Benjamin. — I  can  easily  do  that. 
Now  let  us  suppose  a  nation  at  its 
very  beginning.  The  people  will 
of  course  seek  words  to  express  their 
ideas,  according  to  their  necessities. 
and  their  natural  instincts.  Well ! 
the  first  of  them  who  built  a  shelter 
for  himself  would  call  it  a  cabin,  a 
cottage,  or  a  house,  and  others  would 
g^ve  the  same  name  to  the  building 
which  they  would  put  up  after  his 
example.  When  one  of  them  steals 
anything,  his  ciime  will  l>e  called  a 


BENJAMIN. 


135 


robbery,  or  a  theft.  The  various 
waiits  of  life  will  also  receive  names, 
such  as,  eatings  drinking^  sleeping, 
&c.  The  feelings  will  also  get  con- 
ventional uames,  lliev  will  be  called 
love,  compassion,  Sac.  The  'iiflerent 
actions,  springing  from  the  feelings 
will  be  named,  weeping,  playing, 
rejoicing,  &c.  In  short,  every  thing 
receives  a  name,  and  that  name, 
once  given,  will  pass  every  where 
like  ready  money,  taken  at  the  given 
value,  because  every  one  gives  it  tiie 
same  meaning,  and  employs  it  in  the 
same  way. 

Meriadec. — And  that  is  tr^e.  The 
weather  in  winter  is  said  to  be  cold, 
and  it  is  called  so  every  wh'^re.  So 
in  summer  it  is  said  to  be  nnrm- 

just  the  same  here  as  in  P  />. 
Benjamin. — Exactly  so,  /r/  It  is 

)ii8t  the  same  with  everj    wv  d  in 


f^. 


m 


1 


m 


136 


BIKJAIIIK. 


the  language.  But  there  is  anoiliei 
remark  to  be  made,  and  a  very  im- 
portant one  it  is  too,  for  it  contains 
the  whole  secret  of  the  art  of  gram- 
mar. Words,  whatsoever  they  may 
be,  were  not  invented  generally,  but 
to  express  an  action  or  a  state  of 
being.  Thus,  the  words  of  wliicl) 
we  have  been  speakir^,  express  llie 
action  of  buildings  stealings  eatings 
drinking^  loving,,  weepings  pitying^ 
rejoicings  &c.  Those  words  which 
imply  no  action,  are  used  to  point 
out,  or  to  qualify  the  person  who 
performs  tlie  action,  or  to  determine 
the  manner  in  which  he  has  done  it. 
So,  in  your  phrase  "  the  cat  mewsy^^ 
there  is  the  action  of  mewing,  the 
name  of  the  creature  which  performs 
*hat  action,  and  the  article  the  point- 
ing out  the  particular  cat  of  which 
you  speak. 


BENJAMIN 


137 


1 


Meriadec. — I  imderstaiut  all  thai. 
But  is  tills  rule  general  1 

Benjamin.— 0(  course  it  is.  E  fen 
if  you  compose  sentences  for  a  whole 
hour,  you  will  always  find  in  each 
an  action  and  a  subject  performing 
that  action. 

Meriadec.  —  Let  us  see  now ! — 
My  coat  is  torn.  Now,  there  is  no 
action  there,  is  there  1 

Benjamin. — Do  you  think  so? — 
Now,  I'll  prove  to  you  that  you  are 
mistaken,  for  there  is  a  state,  which 
is  a  past  action.  An  action  may 
have  been  done  in  time  past,  or  it 
may  be  done  at  the  present  time,  or 
is  to  be  done  in  the  lime  to  come. 
In  that  phrase  of  yours :  the  action 
is  already  done,  my  coat  is  worn. 
Only  you  do  not  say  who  or  what 
has  done  it.    Add  that  much  to  it, 


n 


188 


B  R  N  J  A  M  I  5 . 


and  you  will  see  the  whole  train  of 
••he  action. 

Meriadec.  —  Time  has  worn  my 
Iress — /  have  torn  my  dress.  I  de- 
clare it  is  true— I  see  the  action  and 
til  now. 

Benjamin. — Yoii  see  there  is  a 
past  action.  And  that  besides  the 
subject  time  which  has  done  the  ac- 
tion, there  is  also  the  thing-  on  which 
it  was  done,  the  coat.  That  which 
performs  the  action  is  called  the  no- 
minative or  subject  of  the  phrase ; 
and  that  on  which  it  is  performed  is 
named  the  objective  or  object  of  the 
veru.     Now  give  me  an  example. 

Meriadec— Paul  tears  the  book, 
Paul  does  the  action  of  tearing,  so 
he  is  the  nominative  or  object  of 
the  sentence ;  the  action  of  tearing 
is  done  on  the  book,  so  it  '  the 
objective^  or  object  of  the  verb. 


BENJAMIN 


139 


Benjamin.  —  Very  well  indeed. 
You  now  understand  liow  it  is  that 
words  are  composed  of  letters,  and 
sentences  composed  of  words.  You 
must  remember  that  a  sentence  nmst 
contain  al  least  two  words,  in  order 
to  make  sense ;  lliese  words  are,  the 
subject  which  performs  the  action, 
and  the  verb  which  expresses  the 
action  itself,  whellier  it  be  past,  pre- 
sent, or  future,  as:  the  cat  mews, 
Paul  team,  time  wears.  You  see 
plainly  that  each  of  these  phrases 
makes  a  perfect  sense.  When  you 
want  to  add  another  idea,  you  have 
only  to  put  in  another  word,  which 
is  usually  the  object  of  the  verb. 
For  instance ;  the  cat  meivs  loudly 
Paul  tears  the  book,  Time  wears  the 
coat.  You  perceive  that  according 
as  you  extend  the  sentence,  your 
own  idea  wll  be  the  more  fully  de- 


fi  1 


fill 


;irr 


140 


BENJAMIV 


veloped.  So  if  you  go  on  adding 
words,  the  sense  will  become  the 
more  enlarged  :  The  cat  meiv^  h  Hy 
in  the  gutter,  Paul  tears  the  book 
with  fury,  Time  gradually  wears 
the  coat. 

Meriadec. — So  then  the  most  com- 
plete sentence  is  the  one  that  has 
the  greatest  number  of  words — is  it 
not  7 

Benjamin.  —  Not  exactly.  The 
words  are  not  necessarily  placed  one 
after  the  other.  The  best  construct- 
ed sentence  is  that  which  expresses 
the  idea  in  its  full  extent,  with  the 
fewest  possible  words ;  that  is  to  say 
an  action  with  its  subject,  its  object, 
and  the  manner  in  which  it  is  done ; 
in  short  all  the  circumstances  which 
present  themselves  to  the  mind  ai 
accompanying  an  action.  The  sub- 
ject, the  verb,  the  object  and  each 


BKNJAMIV.  141 

of  the  circuinsiances  lo  be  expressed 
will  rccjuire  the  use  of  one  or  more 
expressions  so  as  to  rt^niier  the  idea 
complete. 

Meriadec. — That  is  all  very  natu- 
ral, but  somehow  I  never  Mnderslood 
it  before.  Will  you  just  make  it 
plainer  for  me,  by  an  exainjile? 

Benjamin, — With  great  pleasure. 
Paul  is  in  class  ;  he  has  been  pun- 
ished, and  he  tore  his  book  for  spite. 
There,  you  see,  is  an  action — a  book 
torn.  Who  did  it?  Paul.  Where 
was  it  done  1  In  class.  How  was 
it  done?  For  spite.  Why  was  it 
done?  Because  he  had  been  pun- 
ished. Thus  you  perceive  that  the 
fact  and  aii  its  circumstances  are 
related  in  a  dozen  words. 

Meriadec. — Very  true.  But  then 
there  are  many  actions  mentioned 
there*  first  there  is  being  in  class. 


r' 


1 


' 


if 
I 


•a; 


if   t 


142 


B  E  N  J  A  M  I  y  . 


and  then  heiiig  punished,  thtii  !»»•- 
iiig  ftiigrv,  and  last  of  all  there  is  tlie 
tearing  of  the  boo!;. 

Benjitvitn. — Your  remark  is  just. 
But  sju'eeh  is  like  painting  :  it  would 
be  ridiculous  to  paint  the  arms,  the 
legs,  the  body,  and  the  head  all  sepa- 
rately, in  order  to  represent  a  man  ; 
so,  it  would  be  juj»t  as  absurd  to  re- 
late a  fact  by  taking  all  its  circum- 
stances separately.  The  human 
mind,  which  is  so  rapid  in  its  ideas, 
could  never  bear  the  tedious  repeti- 
tion of  many  small  sentences,  when 
one  suffices  to  express  the  whole. 

Mcr{adec.—0\i  !  tluit  settles  the 
point.  But  I  thought  that"  a  sen- 
tence could  not  contain  several 
Mords  of  the  same  kind,  and  here 
we  have  no  less  than  three  verbs : 
to  be,  to  punish,  and  to  tear. 

Benjamin. — ^You      were     mistaken, 


*  ,1 


11  ■    ^ 


Mi  4  1 


B  K  K  J  A  M  I  N. 


149 


then.  The  same  word  cunnot,  of 
course,  be  brought  twice  into  the 
same  sentence,  for  tliat  is  strictly 
forbidden ;  but  tliere  is  nothing  to 
prevent  us  from  employing  words 
of  the  same  kind  as  often  as  we  find 
it  necessary.  So  we  can  have  two 
oouns,  two  verbs,  two  pronouns, 
&c.  in  the  composition  of  a  phrase. 

Meriadec, — And  might  one  put 
all  the  ten  parts  of  speech  into  a 
sentence  ? 

Benjamin. — Why  not?  Such  a 
sentence  is  rarely,  if  ever,  seen,  but 
■till  it  might  be  found. 

Meriadec. — Dear  me!  I  should 
like  of  all  things  to  hear  such  a 
curious  phrase  as  that  would  be ! 

Benjamin. — I  will,  then,  try  to 
gratify  your  wish ;  but,  first  of  all, 
let  us  define  the  ten  parts  of  speech. 
Do  you  remember  their  definitional 


lyi 


^\    11 


. 


m 


144 


BENJAMIN. 


,.j».,. 


Jtfmadec— Wliy,  to  be  sure  1  do, 
and  it  would  bo  a  wonder  if  1  did 
not,  after  all  the  dry  bread  I  eat,  and 
all  the  lashes  I  got  by  those  same 
parts  of  speech. 

Benjamin.  —  Will     you     repeat 
them,  then  7 

Meriadec. — The  article  is  a  word 
wliich  serves  to  determine  thelkind 
or  number  of  the  thing  spoken  of; — 
the  noun  is  the  name  of  any  i>erson 
or  thing] — the  adjective  is  used  to 
qualify  such  person  or  thing; — the 
ftronoun  is  a  word  used  instead  of  a 
noun,  to  avoid  its  too  fre(|uent  re- 
petition;—  the  verb  expresses  the 
action  or  state  of  the  person  or 
thing;  — the  participle  partakes  of 
the  nature  of  the  verb  and  cf  the 
adjective,  being  merely  another  form 
of  the  verb,  and  like  the  adjective 
it  is  used  to  qualify  ;— the   adverb 


BENJAMIV. 


146 


points  out  the  manner  in  which  the 
thing  is  done ; — the  preposition  serves 
to  connect  words,  and  generally  go- 
verns the  object  of  the  verb  ; — the 
conjunction  connects  the  various 
members  of  a  sentence,  and  links 
sentences  together;  —  the  interjec- 
tion is  an  exclamation  which  ex- 
presses the  sudden  emotions  of  the 
mind. 

Benjamin. — I  am  glad  to  see  that 
you  understand  so  much  of  the  gram- 
mar. It  is  very  important  to  know 
the  diflerent  parts  of  speech  very 
well,  so  as  never  to  confound  them 
one  with  the  other,  and  also  to  be 
able  to  parse  well.  You  will  ob- 
serve that  in  the  ten  classes  of  words 
which  comprise  our  whole  language, 
there  are  some  which  are  but  parti- 
cles of  words,  indeclinable,  having 
but  a  secondary  value  in  the  sea- 


146 


BENJAMIN. 


i;. 


n 


.h 


I'i 


tence,  and  being  without  any  gov- 
ernment. Finally,  tliere  are  others 
which  have  been  classed  separately, 
yet  might  still  belong  to  that  clajsa 
from  which  they  were  first  taken: 
such  are  participles,  which  are  some- 
times used  as  adjectives,  and  some- 
times as  tenses  of  the  verbs ;  and 
of  this  kind  are  also  the  possess- 
ive pronouns,  which  are  in  reality 
notliing  but  adjectives.  This  will 
be  enough  for  our  first  grammar 
lesson. 

Meriadcc. — Oh  !  but  you  promised 
mc  a  piirasc  composed  of  the  ten 
different  purls  of  spoccii. 

Benjamin. — True,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  keep  my  word.  Look  at  the 
gardener  there  working  in  the  gar- 
den.    He  shall  be  our  subject. 

Meriadec, — Very  good.  Go  OD 
now! 


BENJAMIN. 


147 


Benjamin. — Let  us  suppose  that  I 
am  speaking  of  the  garden,  and  1 
will  say  :  The  old  gardener  carefully 
extracts  the  weeds,  and  throws  them 
on  the  ground,  c^y^^^  "  ./f/flw  / " 
Now  parse  that  sentence. 

Meriadec. — The  a  definite  article, 
pointing  out  iIk*  noun  gardener; 
old,  an  adjective  qualifying  the 
noun;  gard£ner,  ixn^'w  masculine, 
the  subject,  or  r  •  u,  .live  of  the 
verb;  carefully  aj  .  erb  showing 
how  the  fact  was  uone ;  extracts  a 
verb  active,  expressing  the  action 
of  the  sentence  ;  the  a  definite  arti- 
cle belonging  to  weeds  ;  weeds,  a 
common  noun  of  the  plural  number, 
governed  in  the  objective  by  the 
verb  extracts  ;  and,  a  copulative  con 
junction  connecting  the  two  parts 
of  the  sentence  ;  throws,  a  verb  ac- 
tive governing  them  ;  them,  a  j»cr- 


! 


m 


is 

•1 

-  •  f, 
U 


Hi?- 

m 


148 


BENJAMIN. 


Bonal  pronoun  ^being  the  substitute 
for  the  noun  weeds)  and  the  object 
of  the  verb;  on,  e  preposition,  gov- 
erning ground ;  the,  a  deiinite  arti 
cle ;  ground,  a  common  noun ;  cry' 
ing,  a  present  participle ;  clas  !  an 
interjection. 

Benjamin.— ^o\v  if  you  will  only 
remember  this  little  review  of  the 
art  of  grammar,  it  will  be  easy  for 
you  to  remember  in  what  manner 
the  parts  of  speech  you  have  men- 
tioned separately  may  be  connected, 
one  with  the  other.  This  prepara- 
tory study  ought  to  be  very  import- 
ant for  you,  seeing  that  it  comprises 
all  the  fundamental  principles,  and 
also  because  it  will  smooth  your  road 
when  you  get  fartiier  on  into  the 
difficulties  of  grammar. 


,A.M^ 


CHAPTER  IX. 


^rFJubinj  (^mxmm. 


•I 


I 


The  lesson  was  at  length  finish- 
ed, and  Mr.  Delor,  who  had  heard 
It  from  the  beginning  with  as  much 
interest  as  surprise,  could  scarcely 
believe  his  own  ears.  All  his  lin- 
gering prejudice  against  the  Brothers 
now  vanished  like  smoke  before 
these  palpable  facts.  Benjamin  had 
entered  their  school  without  know- 
ing even  one  of  his  letters,  and  in  a 
shorter  time  than  the  very  best  ma»« 


j1& 


.^Bi 


H 


;;- 


r.!K 


150 


BENJAMIN 


teis  could  have  pushed  hiin  on  so 
far,  he  Wcos  able  to  teach  others. 
Now,  the  upshot  of  all  this  was,  ilmt 
Mr.  Delor  found  himself  most  shame- 
fully deceived.  The  mist  was  now 
taken  from  before  his  eyes,  and  he 
was  too  honest  not  to  acknowledge 
at  once  the  change  which  had  come 
over  his  mind,  and  to  disavow  those 
opinions,  so  very  erroneous,  and  so 
very  unjust,  which  had  been  infused 
into  his  mind  by  interested  persons 
who  abused  his  credulity.  In  his 
inmost  heart  he  did  ample  justice  to 
the  Brothers,  and  became  on  the  in- 
stant their  steadfast  friend,  as  he  had 
before  been  their  avowed  enemy. 
As  soon  as  Benjamin  ceased  to 
speak,  he  entered  the  summer-house, 
and  warmly  shook  hands  with  the 
youthful  preceptor  of  his  son. 
"  And,  pray,  how  long  have  you 


0 


BENJAMIN. 


l&l 


giving 


him    lessons,  Benja- 


oecn 
minr' 

"For  nearly  a  month,  sir,"  re- 
plied Benjamin,  timidly. 

«  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Delor,  "  I 
owe  you  thirty-six  francs,  for  that  is 
just  what  I  pay  to  my  son's  master. 
Here  is  the  money,  and  as  I  am  very 
well  satisfied  with  your  lessons,  1 
hope  you  will  continue  them.  Will 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

*^  I  am  going  to  send  the  master 
about  his  business,  and  Meriadec 
shall  go  with  you  to-morrow  to  iho 
Brothers'  School." 

"Oh,  papa,"  cried  Meriadec, 
"how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say 


60 


f »» 


**  My  child,"  said  his  father,  as  he 
returned  the  boy's  caress,  "I  shall 
l)e  well  pleased  to  have  you  take 


n 


.1 


* 


IP.« 


R  V  5  J  A  U  f  V 


Benjamin  for  a  mode],  and  profit,  as 
he  has  done,  by  the  lessons  of  your 
worthy  teachers." 

Without  a  moment's  delay  Mr. 
Delor  sent  in  his  resignation  to  the 
various  societies  and  associations  for 
the  propagation  of  popular  instruc- 
tion, by  new  and  approved  methods. 
He  ^vrote  a  very  polite  note  to  the 
Brother  Director,  requesting  the  fa- 
vor of  an  early  visit  from  him. 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Delo.,  after  the 
usual  salutations  had  been  exchang- 
ed, "  Sir,  I  have  been  strangely  mis- 
taken as  to  the  real  character  of  your 
Institute.  I  am  now  completely  unde- 
ceived, and  will  beg  you  to  take  my 
son  under  your  care,  and  also  to  ac- 
cept the  annual  sum  of  one  thousand 
crowns,  which  I  have  long  set  apart 
for  the  promotion  of  solid  cdu' 
cation." 


i 


n  E  N  J  A  M  I  K  . 


103 


**Sir,"  replied  the  Brother,  mo- 
destly, "  your  frankness  is  very  com- 
mendable, and  your  generosity  de- 
serves our  best  thanks.  We  shall 
have  great  pleasure  in  admitting  the 
young  gentleman  into  our  school, 
but  as  for  the  proposed  annuity,  we, 
none  of  us,  can  receive  it  personally, 
as  our  rule  expressly  forbids  us  to 
accept  any  sort  of  present,  or  any 
donation  from  the  parents  of  our 
pupils." 

"  How !  you  are  serving  so  many 
others,  and  are  not  permitted  to 
serve  yourselves?  " 

"  And  are  we  not  serving  our- 
selves, sir,  when  we  diffuse  blessings 
throughout  the  whole  of  society,  by 
devoting  our  time,  our  attention, 
nay,  our  whole  life,  to  train  up  the 
young  m  the  way  they  should  gol 
Your  wish  is  to  promote  the  cau«»e 


W|l 


154 


B  E  X  J  A  M  I  N 


of  education,  and  you  are  willing  to 
give  a  thousand  crowns  yearly  for 
that  very  laudable  purpose;  sulfer 
me  to  suggest  a  plan  for  your  con«^ 
sideration.  We  have  been  long 
seeking  the  means  of  founding  a 
second  school  in  this  town,  seeing 
that  at  present  there  are  only  three 
of  us  to  teach,  between  children  and 
adults,  fully  six  hundred.  The  task 
is  beyond  our  strength,  and  one  of 
us  has  already  sunk  beneath  it.  In 
your  generous  proposal,  sir,  I  grate- 
fully recognize  the  direct  inteij^o- 
sition  of  heaven.  With  your  muni- 
ficent donation,  we  can  realize  our 
intention  of  erecting  u  new  house^ 
and  at  the  same  time  your  own 
wishes  will  be  carried  into  effect." 

To  this  proposal  Mr.  Delor  readily 
agreed.  The  Brother-Superior  was 
at  once  written  to,  and  the  adininis 


""^  -'"- 


BENJAMIN. 


15d 


trators  of  the  school  in  St.  Brieuc 
were  duly  notified.  Measures  were 
also  speedily  taken  to  put  the  pro- 
ject in  operation.  The  report  flew 
quickly  all  through  the  town ;  some 
found  fault  with  the  merchant  for 
w'iiT,  they  termed  his  new  whim; 
b  :.  by  the  greater  number  his  con- 
duct was  warmly  applauded,  and 
several  others  followed  his  example 
by  contributing  towards  tlie  erectiou 
of  the  school-house. 

Meanwhile,  Benjamin,  the  prin- 
cipal cause  of  this  happy  change, 
and  all  its  fortunate  consequences, 
continued  to  edify  his  school-males 
by  his  piety  and  close  application  to 
study.  Meriadec  was  now  mort 
than  ever  attached  to  him,  since  he 
had  become  his  class-mate,  and  he 
in  his  turn  began  to  grow  in  know- 
ledge and  in  virtue.     Every  thing 


m 


Hi 


d 


n 

If 


II 

m 


IM 


BENJAMIN 


went  on  well ;  Ben janiin  continued 
to  give  lessons  to  lus  friend  alter 
school  Imirs,  and  Mr.  Delur,  more 
and  more  pJeiised  wiiii  his  son's  pro- 
gress, regularly  paid  the  thirty-six 
francs  every  month  to  the  young 
teacher.  Tins  liheral  reiniincratiou 
soon  mounted  up  to  a  nice  little  for- 
tune for  Benjamin,  who,  having  his 
board  and  washing  at  Mr.  Dclor's, 
found  it  very  easy  to  save  the  432 
francs  which  he  yearly  received. 
Of  his  monthly  pay  he  disposed  io 
the  following  manner :  tweuty-foui 
francs,  or  one  louis,  he  placed  in 
the  savings'  bank,  and  the  remain- 
der he  kept  for  charitable  purposes. 
Such  had  been  the  advice  of  lus  mo- 
ther, who  knew,  that  of  all  tht 
Christian  virtues,  there  is  none  more 
eflScacious  than  charity  in  sanctifying 
and  streng.hening  the  soul.  Charity, 


n  B  N  J  A  M  1  V  . 


167 


the  most  beautiful  of  all  virtues,  the 
duty  of  the  virtuous,  an  I  the  deiight 
of  the  good ;  charity,  the  divine  r pre- 
cept, and  the  heart's  deep  feeling! 
Nicola  wished  her  son  to  devote  a 
portion  of  his  wealth  tottu'  poor,  since 
it  was  given  hiui  in  pure  charity  by 
another.  So  every  month  Benja- 
min  had  the  happiness  of  relieving 
some  poor  snfTerors,  and  receiving 
many  a  ferveiu  i.lessmg  in  exchange 
(or  a  few  small  pieces  of  money. 
This  was  a  pleasure  unknown  1  e- 
fore,  and  it  v.us  a  source  of  the 
greatest  liappiness  to  Benj.  iin. 
With  what  jo}  would  he  bring  his 
little  oftering  to  a  feeble  o\<\  uu-.n, 
who  lodied  ir  a  wretched  garret; 
how  gla  iy  did  he  buy  some  littl*? 
inedicint  or  "  liolesotnt'  nouri>iuuenl 
for  a  poor  I"  sick  \\oman,  who,  hut 
for  liiin,  sh  did  have  died  for  want 


-     i 


■^■u 
^ 


h  I'  t! 


^ 


m 


.4 


MMIl 


J  58 


DENJilMIN. 


of  assistance  !  how  exquisite  was  the 
pleasure  with  which  he  weekly  car- 
ried a  large  loaf  to  a  poor  woman 
who  had  a  family  of  six  young, 
helpless  children,  without  any 
means  of  support!  How  happy 
Benjamin  was  while  thus  conferring 
happiness  on  others ;  and  beholding 
the  thin,  worn  features  of  these  poor 
creatures  all  brightening  at  his  ap- 
prrich.  He  consoled  th(;m  all,  as 
though  they  had  been  his  dear 
friends,  and  prayed  with  them  and 
for  them,  to  (hat  God  who  is  the 
dispenser  of  hope  and  peace — the 
treasures  of  the  poor.  It  is  such 
•cenes  as  these,  so  touching  and  so 
full  of  human  sorrow,  that,  when 
coupled  with  the  performance  of  the 
most  sacred  duty,  are  the  surest 
means  of  forming  the  young  heart 
Co  piety  and  virtue,  and  hiuuan  ten- 


BENJAMIN 


150 


dcrness;  in  short,  these  are  the 
practices  in  which  Christian  parents 
should  biing  up  their  children.  Ber^ 
jainin  had  his  twelve  francs  to  give 
away  every  month :  other  boys  may 
not  have  so  much  ;  some  may  have 
only  a  few  pence  to  give,  but  the 
act  will  be  of  the  same  value  before 
God,  and  the  moral  result  will  be 
the  same. 

But  Benjamin  was  rapidly  ap- 
proaching an  important  epoch  in  his 
life.  He  was  about  to  make  his  first 
communion,  and  to  receive  the  sac- 
rament of  Confirmation ;  and  these 
.wo  great  events  had  long  been  the 
«um  total  of  his  hopes  and  wishes. 
The  remembrance  of  his  past  sins, 
and  the  very  small  degree  of  merit 
which  he  gave  to  himself,  caused 
him  to  shrink  from  the  idea  of  re- 
ceiving his  God,  for  he  dared   not 


i 


11! 


•  M' 


J.'        t 


100 


u  fi  K  J  A  M  I  N . 


hope  to  have  those  holy  dispositions 
which  are  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  proper  reception  of  those  sacra- 
ments ;  and  Benjamin  well  knew, 
that  on  that  depended  his  eternal 
salvation.  Applying  his  mind,  there- 
fore, to  reflect  on  the  inestimable 
value  of  the  favor  he  wr..   about  to 
receive  in  the  divine  Eucharist,  and 
the    responsibility   he    thereby    in- 
curred, he  mentally   exclaimed: — 
"  Oh !  my  God,  grant  that  1  may 
prepare   a   pure    heart    to    receive 
thee !  make  known  to  me,  oh  Lord, 
nil  my  offences,  to  the  end  that  I 
may  detest  them  ;  and  I  beg  of  thy 
mercy  never  to  let  me  fall  agair 
into  sin !    Should  I  not  be  the  most 
ungrateful   of  human   beings,  if  I 
were  to  drive  thee  away  by  sinning 
again,  after  thou  hadst  chosen  my 
heart  for  thy  dwelling-place,  and 


BENJAMIN 


161 


deigned  to  give  thyself  entirely  to 
me.  My  God !  my  God !  my  only 
fear  is  that  I  may  lose  thee,  after 
having  once  possessed  tliee.  Gran 
that  the  sanctuary  which  I  am  pre 
paring  for  thee  may  Icag  be  thy 
abode,  and  that  thou  wilt  ever  re- 
main Willi  me,  oh  divine  Jesua, 
while  1  live  here  on  earth ! " 

And  these  pious  aspirations  be- 
came daily  stronger  in  Benjamin's 
mind  and  heart.  He  took  all  pos- 
Bible  care  to  prepare  himself  for  r«v 
ceiving  the  holy  Communion,  desir- 
ing that  it  should  produce  the  most 
excellent  fruit  in  his  soul.  Every 
day,  and  all  the  day,  he  made  an 
oflering  of  himself  to  God. 

And  God  accepted  the  gift  of  a 
heart  purified  by  repentance.  From 
the  happy  day  on  which  our  young 
hero    was    first    admitted    to    the 


BENJAMIN. 


eelesiial  banquet,  he  lived  ever  aftei 
a  life  of  sanctity  and  grace.    It  was, 
indeed,  a  rare  thing  to  see  a  child  so 
yonng  practising  all  virtues  with  so 
much  ease.     But  this  was  the  natu- 
ral effect  of  that  divine  sacrament 
for  which  he  had  been  so  long  and 
so  carefully  preparing.    Whether  in 
the   class,   in   the    church,   in   the 
house,  or  in  the  street,  his  modesty 
and  piety  were  every  where  visible, 
enhanced    by   his  great  success   in 
learning,  and  embellished  by  his  na- 
tural gaiety,  his  never-failing  good 
humor,  and  his  unvarying  kindness 
of  heart.    Masters,  school-mates,  and 
visitors,  all  alike  loved  Benjamin, 
and  he  was  already  treated  with  a 
respect  which  is  seldom,  if  ever,  paid 
to  children.    And  thus  was  the  fore- 
sight of  Brother  Angelus  fully  justi- 


J 


t^m 


n 


BENJAMIN. 


16S 


fied.  Benjamin,  with  the  advantage 
of  judicious  training,  had  become  a 
model  for  the  imitation  of  youtli. 

And  his  example  was  not  lost  on 
his  companions,  who  were  inspired 
with  the  desire  of  imitating  him  in 
every  thing ;  so  true  it  is,  that  if  one 
scabby  sheep  infects  the  whole  Jlockj 
30  one  good  boy  can  improve  a 
whole  school.  Never  had  the  Bro- 
thers' school  in  St.  Brieiic  boasted  so 
many  promising  pupils ;  a  fact  which 
was  amply  proved  by  the  yearly 
examination,  when  it  came  round. 
The  boys,  indeed,  gave  general  sa- 
tisfaction by  the  promptness  and  cor- 
rectness of  their  answers  to  all  ques- 
tions, and  also  by  their  writing  and 
drawing,  of  which  many  beautiful 
ipecimens  were  presented.  All  the 
▼ifitors  were  unanimous  in  express- 


J 


164 


BENJAMIN. 


ing  the  warmest  approbation.     Mr. 
Delor,  in  particular,  being  one  of  the 
chief  judges  appointed  to  examine 
the  boys,  could  scarcely  find  words 
to  express  his  admiration.     At  the 
close  of  the  examination,  the  prizes 
were  formally  distributed  by  his  lord- 
ship, the  Bishop  of  St.  Bricuc.  Ben- 
jamin obtained    eight  prizes,  and 
Meriadec  a  premium  for  grammar, 
and  the  second  prize  for  arithmetic. 
Mr.  Delor  was  very  much  pleased, 
and  took  occasion  to  relate  the  scene 
which  he  had  overheard  in  the  sum- 
mer-house, his  tearful  eyes  all  the 
time  attesting  his  emotion,  and  he 
added :  "  If  Meriadec  has  obtained 
two  premiums,  he  may  thank  his 
young  teacher,  and  both  of  them  are 
indebted  for  all  to  these  excellent 
nsen,  whj  are  bestowing  countless 


BBNJAMIK. 


165 


blessings  on  society,  by  difTiising 
amongst  the  lower  classes  the  purest 
principles  of  morahty,  and  the  know- 
ledge which  contributes  to  man'i 
sarthly  happiness." 


I 


I,  -i. 

r 


.1        I— 


CHAPTER   X. 

f  mrnns  Srinrtinu. 

When  the  chisses  were  again 
opened,  the  new  school,  foundcil  by 
Mr.  Delor,  was  provided  with  excel- 
lent masters,  and  there  was  certpiuly 
no  lack  of  pupils.  And  now  the 
Brothers  belonging  to  the  mure  an- 
cient school  were  eiiubleil  to  bestow 
still  greater  attention  on  their  pupils, 
because  they  were  no  longer  over- 
tasked, all  the  surplus  of  theii 
school  beintif  trausferied  to  the  new 


BENJAMIN. 


167 


establish mcnl.  The  pupils  tbem> 
selves  were  very  sensible  of  the 
change,  anil  the  affairs  of  both 
schools  flourished  beyond  all  pre- 
vious hopes.  The  classes  being  now 
better  organized,  and  fewer  in  num- 
ber, it  was  much  more  cnsy  to  di- 
rect the  studies  of  the  boys,  and  give 
them  a  wider  range.  The  Brothers 
had  henceforward  no  other  ol)stacU'S 
to  encounter  than  those  which  arc 
every  where  interwoven  with  their 
mission ;  these  tliey  resisted  with  the 
arms  of  itience  and  watchful  care, 
and  vict'.y  came,  at  last,  to  crown 
their  efTorts.  Then  did  they  bless 
God  for  having  poured  down  such 
abundant  favors  on  their  mission, — 
favors  which  exceeded  tlieir  most 
sanguine  hopes.  The  fatigue  insep- 
arable from  their  labors,  the  obsti- 
nate vices  of  some  of  liieir  pupils,  the 


!l 


168 


B  K  K  J  A  M  i  N  . 


unjust  complaints  of  certain  parents^ 
and  the  malicious  sarcasms  of  their 
enemies,  all  these  were  more  than 
compensated  by  the  success  of  the 
schools,  the  progress  made  hy  many 
of  the  pupils,  the  favor  and  appro- 
bation  of  the  public,  with  the  dona- 
tions and  support  of  the  avowed 
patrons  of  their  schools,  whose  num- 
ber increased  in  proportion  to  their 
success. 

But  it  was  chiefly  in  a  moral  point 
of  view  that  the  Brothers  saw  (he 
greatest  improvement  in  their  pu- 
pils. Soon  after  Benjamin's  lirsi 
communion,  he  nnd  several  other 
boys  had  formed  a  liitle  society  in 
honor  of  the  blessed  Virgin,  placing 
themselves  and  iheir  school  motes 
under  her  special  protection.  And 
it  really  seemed  as  though  the  ira 
maculate  mother  of  the  Saviour  had 


L 


B  K  N  J  A  M  I  N 


let 


adopted  llieni  as  her  childieu  nnd 
obtained  for  tliein  many  extraordi- 
nary blessings.  Purity  is  the  source 
of  innumerable  virtues,  for  when 
the  heart  is  ciiaste,  the  soul  is  easily 
preserved  from  the  contamination  of 
vice.  Nothing  contributed  so  nuich 
to  the  spiritual  advancement  of  liiesc 
good  boys  as  tiie  happy  idea  of  de- 
voting themselves  to  the  Queen  of 
Angels.  Modesty  accompanieil  all 
their  actions  ;  and  their  very  auutse- 
menls  assumed  that  character  of 
chaste  decorum  which  invariably  fol- 
lows a  Christian  education.  When 
they  spoke,  it  was  with  the  utmost 
mildness ;  ti>ey  were  always  civil  and 
agreeable  towards  each  other,  and 
they  were  all  closely  united  by  that 
holy  friendship  which  is  based  on 
mutual  charity  and  mutual  virt  le. 
Respectful  and  obedient  to  their  pa 


g 


it 


170 


D  E  K  J  A  M  I  N  . 


•"cnts  and  their  masters,  honoring 
the  aged  whoever  they  might  be, 
and  full  of  compassion  for  the  woes 
and  sufferings  of  others,  these  pious 
children  were  the  glory  of  the  school 
and  an  example  for  the  whole  town. 
And  there  was  not  one  of  these 
go(Ki  hoys  more  exemplary  than 
Benjamin,  wliose  good  conduct  and 
solid  piety  made  him  the  joy  and 
comfort  of  his  nioiher.  He  Ijad  now 
hut  one  year  lo  remain  at  school,  as 
it  was  thought  high  time  lo  ifive  him 
some  husincss.  Mr.  Dolor,  who 
loved  him  as  a  son,  had  proposed  to 
take  him  into  his  couniiug-liousc, 
with  a  salary  of  four  Inuulrod  francs 
for  the  (irst  year,  to  he  doubled  the 
year  following.  This  proposal  uuist 
have  been  a  very  llatter-ng  one,  lo 
a  young  lad  who  had  scarcely  com- 
pleted his  thirtej-nih  year;  yet,  ad- 


i<  E  r:  T  A  M  I  N 


171 


vantageous  as  it  certainly  was,  and 
most  agreeal)le  to  Benjamin,  he  yei 
hesitated  at  first  to  accept  it,  without 
consulting  his  niotiier,  and  Ui^kingof 
God  the  grace  to  know  his  vocation, 
and  whether  he  was  likely  to  suit 
tli«3  offered  situation.  He  then  re- 
turned his  most  sincere  thanks  to 
Mr.  Dclor,  but  told  him  at  the  same 
time  that  he  must  take  a  little  time  to 
talk  the  matter  over  with  his  iDotlicr 
and  to  ask  the  illuminating  grace  of 
God,  This  wise  and  modest  reply 
raised  him  still  higher  in  Mr.  Delor's 
esteem,  and  made  him  still  more 
anxious  to  engage  him.  "  You  are 
perfectly  right,"  said  he,  "not  to 
be  too  precipitate  in  taking  a  situa- 
tion without  proper  reflection,  or 
without  your  mother's  consent.  But 
it  is  six  months  till  the  vacation,  and 
I  shall  keep  the  situation  for  you, 


'13 


■ti 


y 


1  I'  ^ 


liii 


L 


172 


B  E  N  J  A  M  I  R . 


ttlthougli  it  is  really  vacant  no\f 
By  that  time  I  hope  you  will  have 
decided  on  coming  to  me,  as  I  really 
do  not  think  you  can  find  a  situation 
more  advantageous  to  you."  Ben- 
jamin assented,  and  again  thanked 
Mr.  Delor  for  his  great  kindness  to 
him,  assuring  him  that  he  would 
rather  far  be  in  his  employment, 
than  that  of  any  other,  even  were 
the  salary  not  so  high,  as  he  ardent- 
ly desired  to  have  an  opportunit}'  of 
proving  his  gratitude  for  the  many 
favors  already  received.  Mr.  Delor 
was  more  and  more  pleased,  and  by 
the  time  Benjamin  took  his  leave,  it 
seemed  tacitly  understood  that  Ben- 
jamin was  to  accept  the  situation. 

On  lea  -ing  Mr.  Delor's  house,  he 
was  walking  slowly  along,  turning 
over  in  his  mind  the  proposal  he 
had  just  received,  when  all  at  once 


BE>  JAMIN. 


173 


he  was  startled  by  a  loud  crasli,  and 
hastily  went  lo  where  he  saw  a 
crowd  gathering  around  a  workshop. 
A  pitiable  spectacle  there  met  his 
eyes,  and  cliilled  his  very  heart:  an 
unfortunate  carpenter,  had  fallen 
from  a  scaffold,  and  a  huge  beam 
falling  with  him,  had  shattered  both 
his  legs.  Great  was  the  sorrow  and 
dismay  of  Benjamin  when  in  the 
poor  mangled  creature  before  him 
he  recognized  his  former  host,  Rosel. 
Sincerely  grieved  to  see  that  worthy 
man  in  sucii  a  condition,  Benjamin 
helped  to  carry  iijiu  home,  and  staid 
some  time  with  the  alHicted  family, 
trying  all  he  could  to  console  them. 
Thanks  to  his  provident  care  of  his 
little  funds,  he  was  enabled  to  assist 
them  in  their  great  distress,  and  truly 
rejo.ccd  he  was,  to  have  it  in  his 
power,  for  he  knew  very  well  that 


■'Si 


m 

.t 

1. 

m 

1 

m 

V 

f  1 

i 

'  1 

\ 

t.-l 

!      1' 

■ 

r 

174 


BENJAMIN. 


Rosel  was  wretchedly  poor.  The 
doctors  were  called  in,  and  they 
found  the  injury  sustained  by  Rosel 
to  be  fully  as  great  as  had  been 
supposed ;  the  bones  being  literally 
smashed  in  pieces,  and  the  flesh 
dreadfully  bruised  and  mangled.  It 
was  more  than  probable  that  the 
unfortunate  man  would  be  a  cripple 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  On  hearing 
this  announcement  the  groans  and 
lamentations  of  his  unhappy  wife 
and  children  broke  forth  anew,  and 
mingled  sadly  with  the  piteous  moans 
of  the  agonized  sufTerer.  It  was  in- 
deed a  scene  of  heart-rending  mise- 
ry. Benjamin  remained  all  the  day 
with  his  poor,  afflicted  friends,  deeply 
sympathizing  with  them  and  doing 
every  tiling  he  could  think  of,  that 
might  be  rseful  to  them.  All  that 
long  night  he  could  never  close  an 


L 


BENJAMIN 


175 


eye,  so  great  was   his  sorrow  and 
anxiety   about   these    poor   people. 
The  mulilated  ima^e  of  Rosel,  and 
the  sad,  horror-stricken  faces  of  his 
wife  and  cJiildren  were  before  him 
in  fancy,  and  engrossed  his  every 
thonglil.     What  could  he  do  to  se- 
cure to  them  some  permanent  assist- 
ance? for  poor  Benjamin's  resources 
were  very,  very  limited;    his  little 
hoard  would  not  last  f  hem  very  long, 
and  yet  their  necessity  must  be  long 
— long  and   tedious — perhaps    life- 
long.    All  of  a  sudden,  he  thought 
of  Mr,  Delor's  generous  proposal  of 
the  previous  day ;  "  That  is  the  very 
thing,"  said  he  to  himself,  with  a 
sudden  rush  of  joyous  emotion.     "  It 
will    be  the   salvation  of  this  poor 
distressed  family.     Mr.  Delor  is  very 
charitable,  and  f  know  he  will  take 
RosePs  eldest  son  in  my  place,  for 


init 


i 


f/Li 


■I.S5 


■II 


176 


BB  N J  4  MI N . 


he  too  has  been  educjited  by  tlie 
Brothers,  and  is  eigliteen  months 
older  than  I  am.  He  will  have  foin 
hundred  francs  for  the  first  year, 
and  as  much  more  for  the  next.  He 
.A  a  very  good,  steady  boy,  and 
Heaven  will  give  him  grace  to  win 
Mr.  Delor's  favor ;  so,  the  more  I 
think  of  this  plan,  the  more  I  am 
pleased  with  it." 

Full  of  these  generous  thoughts, 
Benjamin  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  night  maturing  his  project,  and 
anxiously  looking  for  the  dawn  of 
day.  At  last  he  saw  the  first  faint 
glimmer  of  the  gray  morning  light, 
and  dressing  himself  quickly,  he  re- 
paired to  Mr.  Delor's  as  soon  as  he 
thought  it  likely  that  the  merchant 
was  to  be  seen.  Mr.  Delor,  seeing 
him  come  so  very  early,  naturally 
concluded  that  he  had  already  made 


BENJAMIN. 


Ill 


up  his  mind,  and  was  now  come  to 
announce  his  intention  of  accepting 
the  situation.  His  reception  was, 
therefore,  even  unusually  gracious, 
but  he  was  doomed  to  be  speedily 
disappointed.  Encouraged  by  his 
kindly  smile,  Benjamin  hastened  to 
tell  him  what  liad  happened  on  the 
preceding  day,  dwelling  particularly 
on  the  extreme  poverty  of  Rose  I 's 
family,  and  his  own  ol)ligations  to 
that  worthy  man  whose  care,  and 
advice,  and  good  example,  had  been 
80  useful  to  him.  "  Oh,  sir !  "  he 
continued,  in  a  choking  voice,  "  I 
have  reckoned  on  your  goodness  and 
compassion,  to  relieve  the  misery  of 
these  poor  people.  You  can  be- 
friend them — you  have  the  power !  " 
"  Well,  and  what  would  you  have 
nie  do  for  them  1 "  demanded  the 
merchant,  who  believed  that  it  was 


/ti 


u  > 


M 


178 


BEXJAMIN. 


if 


I   t 


f 


- 


present  and  pecuniary  assistance  thai 
Benjamin  sought. 

*  Just  this,  sir,"  replied  the  youth- 
ful advocate.  "  You  have  a  place 
vacant  in  your  office ;  be  so  good  as 
to  give  it  to  RosePs  eldest  son,  who 
is  a  very  good,  religious  boy.  Oh  ! 
do  not  refuse,  sir ! — pray  do  not ! 
You  will  find  him  well  worthy  of 
esteem  and  confidence,  and  then  you 
will  be  conferring  such  a  blessing  on 
the  whole  family  ;  for  if  he  only  had 
that  situation,  his  salary  would  keep 
them  all  from  want." 

Mr.  Delor  was  silent. 

**  It  will  keep  them  from  starv- 
ing," said  Benjamin,  who  could  not 
prevent  his  tears  from  gushing  forth. 
**  And  heaven  and  the  good  Chris- 
tians will  do  tjje  rest." 

"  My  boy,"  said  Mr.  Delor,  though 
he  was  at  heart,  deeply  atteded  by 


BRNJAMIN 


nt 


this  noble  disinterestedness,  yet  wmt- 
ing  to  try  him  out  for  it :  "  my  good 
boy,  I  had  intended  the  place  for 
yoa,  and  what  right  have  you  to  in- 
terfere with  my  choice  ?  Am  I  to 
be  governed,  do  you  think,  by  your 
childish  fancies ;  or,  am  !  expected 
to  take  an  interest  in  all  your  ac- 
quaintances, because,  forsooth,  I  hav« 
befriended  yourself?  " 

"  Oil !  sir,  sir !  "  interrupted  Ben- 
jamin, "how  little  do  you  under 
stand  me !  I  to  interfere  with  your 
choice,  when  I  only  meant  to  offer 
my  humble  petition  !  And  see,  sir, 
if  I  don't  ask  it  with  tears,  for  I  can't 
keep  them  in  !  Ah  !  surely  you  can- 
not be  ignorant  of  my  real  feelings, 
when  I  thus  appeal  to  your  com- 
passion on  behalf  of  this  worthy  fa- 
mily in  their  great  distress  ?  Oh  no ! 
I    know   you    cannot    blame    me. 


«iU 


1; 


4i 


'■,n 


■■:$■:  ; 


?! 


180 


BENJAMIN 


Oaly  say  so,  sir,  and  I  v/ill  be  con- 
lent ! " 

"  I  am  well  disposed  to  give  you 
credit  for  the  very  best  intentions, 
Benjamin,"  replied  Mr.  Delor. 
"  But  inst  let  us  talk  the  matter  over 
quietly."  He  then  did  his  utmost 
to  convince  Benjninin  that  what  lie 
proposed  doing  was  vory  rash  and 
imprudent ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  chari- 
ty should  always  begin  at  home." 
He  represented  to  him  that  he  him> 
self  was  just  as  much  in  need  of  a 
situation  as  RosePs  son  could  be,  and 
that  if  he  now  rejected  the  opportu- 
nity offered  him,  there  was  great 
reason  to  fear  that  such  another 
|9ight  not  soon  present  itself,  and 
Jiat  he  would  repent  his  rashness 
when  (00  late.  Finally,  he  said  that 
though  generosity  was  a  very  excel- 
lent thing,  yet  ila  dictates  were  net 


*~";i: 


BENJAMIN. 


181 


always  to  be  followed  to  llie  exclu- 
sion of  prudence. 

Benjamin,  as  we  may  imagine, 
promptly  answered  these  objections. 
In  his  opinion,  charity  was  a  fnnda- 
mental  precept,  the  first  gift  of  faith ; 
for  faith  without  works  is  deady  ac- 
cording to  the  Apostle  St.  James. 
To  serve  others,  then,  and  to  make 
a  sacrifice  n\  their  favor,  when  oc- 
casion requires  it,  is  an  act  of  faith, 
and  of  hope;  for  faith,  hope,  and 
charity,  are  sisters.  Whatsoever 
charity  gives  is  offered  by  faith  to 
God,  and  hope  prepares  the  reward. 
To  give,  before  God,  is  to  receive ; 
for  whatsoever  is  given  He  w^ill  give 
back  an  hundred  fold.  When  we 
succor  and  assist  our  neighbor,  we 
imitate  God  himself,  who  daily  dis- 
penses  the  treasures  of  his  bounty 
amongst  the  whole  human  family. 


m 


189 


BKNJAMIV. 


I? 


1  •■ 


f - 


And  yet,  who  would  be  more  ex- 
cusable if  He  withheld  his  blcssingi 
— who  meets  with  so  much  ingrati- 
tude 1  Who  is  so  often  tempted  to 
regret  his  benefactions,  if  I  might 
venture  to  say  so  ?  Yet  his  mercy 
is  never  impeded  by  these  consider- 
aticns;  nor  does  the  bad  use  made 
of  his  blessings  ever  arrest  their 
course.  This  is  the  example  which 
we,  according  to  our  power,  ought 
to  imitate,  never  suffering  doubt  or 
fear  for  the  future  to  prevent  us  from 
doing  good  to  otiiers.  To  abstain 
from  assisting  a  noiglilior  in  distress, 
through  fear  that  we  niiglit  after- 
wards regret  it,  would  be  offering  an 
insult  to  Divine  Providence.  How 
could  we  suppose,  sir,  iliat  God 
would  ever  punish  any  one  for  re- 
lieving a  fellow-creature  in  distress. 
Ah  no!  God  would  always  raise  up 


!    • 
I  I 


il 


BB  VJ  A  KIN 


18? 


B  friend  for  us,  or  m  lenst  Ho  him- 
•elf  would  Ixjcome  our  friend  and 
consoler. 

There  was  in  this  reasoning  some 
hing  so  just,  and  so  elevated,  ahove 
all  so  truly  Christian,  that  Mr.  Delo. 
could  not  help  acknowledging  him- 
self fully  convinced.     Warmly  shak 
ing  Benjamin's  hand,  ho  exclaimwl : 
"  Blessed  boy  that  you  are,  you  m. 
fit  the  favor  of  Heaven,  and  the  nd- 
miratioii  of  men."     On  hearing  this, 
Benjamin    hlushed    deeply :    "  My 
Jear,  good  sir ! "  said  he,  "  just  ihink 
of  poor  Rosel ! — he  is  suffering,  and 
every  way  wretched." 

"Yes!  yes!  Benjamin  you  are 
qnite  right — let  us  think  of  that  poor 
man.  You  wili  take  him  this  gold 
piece  from  me,  and  run  as  fast  as 
you  can.  At  your  request,  I  will 
give  the  vacant  place  to  his  son 


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iil 


I; 


If] 


\ 


II 'i 


[ft-'  ^  i: 


1S4 


BKKJAMIN. 


When  you  are  free  to  make  an  en- 
gagement,  I  shall  find  another  for 
you.  I  will  now  give  you  the  plea- 
sure  of  bringing  this  good  news  to 
the  family ;— so  you  may  go  as  fast 

as  you  like." 

Benjamin,  having  made  his  best 
bow,  darted  away  like  lightning,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  made  his  poor 
friends  rejoice  by  announcing  the 
glad   tidings    that    Mr.   Delor   was 
going  to  take  the  eldest  son  into  his 
office,  nor  did  he  forget  to  mention 
the  liberal  salary  attached  to  the  sit- 
uation.    It  is  true  he  made  not  the 
slightest  allusion  to  the  part  he  had 
in  obtaining  this  appointment,  yet  it 
happened  that  Rosel's  family  soon 
heard  it  all  from  another  source. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


wm 


t 


Slir  #irk  Itrangrr. 

There  is  certainly  no  feeling  of 
the  human  heart  more  delicious,  OT 
more  refined  than  that  which  fol- 
lows the  performance  of  an  act  of 
charity  :  so  nothing  had  ever  given 
Benjamin  such  exquisite  happiness 
as  the  event  related  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  The  deplorahle  condition 
of  Rosel,  the  extraordinary  merit  of 
his  son,  who  had  heen  Benjamin'i 
playmate  in   childhood,    and   sine* 


k 


nu 


ill 


1 


it. 


V4: 


11; 
I 

I 

I   ■ 


186 


B  K  5  J  AM  I  N. 


then  his  class-mate ;  and  finally  the 
unvarying  kindness  which  he  had 
received  from  the  whole  family  dur- 
ing his  stay  amongst  them ;  all  these 
motives  tended  to  increase  the  plea- 
sure he  enjoyed.  And  then  the  ar- 
dent, the  unspeakable  gratitude  of 
the  family,  expressed  in  every  way 
they  could  think  of,  made  him  feel 
still  more  happy. 

Whilst  Benjamin  was  thus  taken 
up  with  the  affairs  of  his  friends,  the 
time  was  rapidly  approaching  when 
he  was  to  begin  to  think  of  his  own. 
The  school-year  was  now  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  with  it  Benjamin^s 
attendance  at  the  Brothers'  School 
His  education  being  finished,  it  be- 
came necessary  that  he  should  seek 
some  means  of  earning  a  living. 
His  mother  was  very  anxious  that 
he  should  lose  no  time  in  idleness, 


BENJAMIN 


1S7 


lest  the  fruits  of  his  excellent  train- 
ing might  he  endangered.  She  had 
too  often  seen  children  wlio  had  heeu 
carefully  brought  up  by  the  Brothers, 
when  once  they  left  the  school,  give 
themselves  up  to  idleness,  and  finally 
to  evil  courses,  all  for  want  of  useful 
occupation  to  keep  mind  and  body 
employed.  It  was  doubly  necessary 
that  Benjamin  should  be  put  to  some 
business,  since  his  passions  had  been 
found  so  violent  and  so  hard  to 
nibdue. 

But,  then,  what  business  was  the 
best  for  him  7 — It  was  certain  that 
he  was  no  ordinary  boy.  His  solid- 
ity of  judgment,  and  his  great  natu- 
ral talents,  cultivated  as  they  had 
been ;  these,  with  the  vast  amount 
of  solid  learning  which  he  had  ac- 
quired, rendered  the  decision  a  some- 
what difficult  one.    And  Nicola  knew 


M 


I 


H 


i:     . 


H 


U 


18B 


8  S  N  J  A  M  I  !i  . 


this.  Though  herself  a  plain,  sim 
pie  woman  she  could  well  undi  r- 
stand  that  Benjamin's  talents  and 
requirements  unfitted  him  for  a 
purely  manual  employment.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  had  no  means  to 
prepare  him  for  any  of  those  pro- 
fessions which  would  have  suited  his 
taste  and  his  abilities.  She  could  not 
send  him  to  college,  where  Meriadec 
was  to  go  after  leaving  the  Brothers' 
School,  so  the  poor  woman  icnew 
not  how  to  act. 

Just  at  this  time  it  Wtis  that  that 
fearful  scourge,  the  cholera,  broke 
out  in  i'rance  and  began  its  dreadful 
work  of  decimraing  the  entire  popu- 
lation, and  Brfetagne  was  one  of  the 
first  provinces  it  attacked.  Every 
one  that  could  move  away,  hastened 
to  fly  from  the  approach  of  the 
plague,  hut  it   followed    from   one 


B^U 


^  \ 


BK^TJAMIN. 


189 


locality  to  another,  and  at  each  mi- 
gration the  number  of  fugitives  grew 
fearfully   less.      Scarcely   had    this 
terrible   pestilence   appeared  in  St. 
Brieuc,  when  Madam  Dubac  resolved 
to  leave  it,  notwithstanding  her  age 
and  infirmity.     It  was  not  that  the 
old  lady  sought  to  shun  death,  for 
she  well  knew  that  death  was  every 
where  around,  and  not  to  be  avoided 
by  any  precautions  of  hers,  but  she 
wished,  before   leaving   the  world, 
to  see  her  only  son  and  give  him 
her  last  blessing.     Preparations  were 
quickly  made  for  the  journey,  and 
they  all  set  out  on  the  day  after  the 
examination,  when    Benjamin,    as 
usual,  had  obtained  the  highest  ho- 
nors, and  most  valuable  prizes.     He 
had  barely  time  to  go,  in  company 
with  his  mother,  to  take  leave  of  his 
beloved  masters,  and  to  thank  them 


t  {• 


190 


BENJAMIN 


M 


ill 


all,  but  especially  Brother  Angcius, 
for  the  excellent  education  they  had 
sriven  him.     How  his  heart  swelled 
with   sorrowful   -amotion  when    he 
came  to  bid  them  farewell,  and  liow 
carefully  did   he   treasure  up  their 
parting  admonitions!     His  school- 
days were  now  for  ever  at  an  end, 
and  he  was  about  to  enter  upon  the 
dangerous  paths  of  busy  life,  without 
any   worldly   means  on   which    to 
depend.     It  was  now  that  he  must 
cling  more  closely  than  ever  to  the 
sacred     principles   of    morality    in 
which  he  had  been  brought  up,  and 
put  in  practice  tliose  divine  precepts 
which  had  been  so  early  impressed 
upon  his  mind.    "  My  child ! "  said 
Brother  Angelus  in  conclusion,  "  my 
child!  you  have  been  a  good  and 
docile  pupil — go  now  and  become  a 
good  citizen.     Endeavor  always  to 


n 


BENJAMIN. 


191 


I 


convince  otliers  by  your  good  con- 
duct that  a  truly  religious  education 
is  advaniageous  both  to  the  individ- 
ual who  receives  it,  and  to  society 
at  large.  My  blessings  and  prayeri 
.hall  be  ever  you'-s  !  " 

The  tears  w  'ing  fast  from 

Benjamin's  e  >  iie  kissed  the 
Brother's  hand  and  ^ver  again, 

and  promised  never  to  forget  his 
advice.  All  hearts  were  touched 
by  this  scene,  and  Benjamin  him- 
self had  to  hurry  away,  unwill- 
ing to  let  his  emotion  be  seen. 
Very  soon  after,  he  set  out  with 
his  mother  for  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Dubac. 

The  journey  was  a  mournful  one, 
for  every  where  as  our  travelers 
passed  along  in  the  city  and  in  the 
country — they  saw  nothing  but  death 
tnd  desolation.     Even  the  face  of 


192 


BENJAMIN. 


f  fi^ 


naluie,  hiul  there  little  to  cheer  the 
dejection  ol  the  travel lers,  for  in  that 
old nuuitiiue  region  liie  lejitiiifsof  the 
ecenery  were  dull  inul  monotonous ; 
the  hills  were  clot  lied  with  gigantic 
oaks,  all  gnarled  and  knotted  with 
age,  and  the  plains  strewed  with 
coarse,  dry  rushes,  or  wild,  half- 
withered  brambles. 

While  journeying  through  this 
melancholy  region,  the  abode  of  si- 
lence and  desolation,  they  frequently 
met  funeral  processions,  consistmg 
solely  of  a  few  weeping  relatives  of 
the  dead.  In  the  cities  through 
which  their  route  lay,  horror  and 
despair  were  painted  on  every  face, 
at  sight  of  the  dead-carts  which  were 
passing  and  repassing  in  all  direc- 
tions with  their  loads  of  wretched 
victims.  And  such  were  the  scenes 
which    greeted    our    travellers    all 


.,i. 


^  rt  N  J  A  M  I  N  . 


10S 


along  the  way  till  they  reached  theb 
destination. 

Mr.  Dubac  was  rejoiced  to  see  hii 
Qged  mother,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  several  years,  and  he  was  truly 
grateful  that  they  had  been  spared 
U    'Tieot  again.     lie    /as  a  man  of 
distinguished  merit,  arJ  in  his  pro- 
fessional character,  as  a  physician, 
presented  an  edifying  example  of 
heroic  devotion  and   real    benevo- 
lence, at  a  time  when  such  qualities 
were    doubly   required.      His    zeal 
seemed   to  increase  as  the  'danger 
became  more  alarming,  for  there  is 
in  a  pure,  imselfish  soul  a  certain 
superhuman  energy  which,  in  sea- 
sons of  public  calamity  raises  it  far 
above  the  fears  and  apprehensions 
of  common  humanity.     And  Ben- 
jamin, wliose  soul  was  well  fitted 
to    sympathize    with   such  a  man, 


A  111 


i'  t 

I'  -i 


Itf4 


■  K*'JAllIlf. 


li 


;«  ) 


■it 
.i  i 


i 


watched  him  da}'  after  day  in  hii 
heroic  exertions,  till  he  at  length  be- 
came, as  it  were,  spell-bound.  Ni- 
cola went  with  her  mistress  to  the 
doctor's  country-house  where  his 
wife  and  children  were,  but  Beuja- 
mm  asked  and  obtained  leave  to 
main  in  Nantes.  In  the  course  of 
a  few  days  he  became  very  useful 
to  the  doctor,  whom  he  accompanied 
iu  all  his  rounds,  especially  amono^sl 
the  poorer  cholera  patients,  p  h-- 
ing  and  administering  their  medi- 
cines, or  rubbing  and  warming  them 
according  as  iie  was  ordered.  Dr. 
Dubac  was  not  long  without  dis- 
covering Benjamin's  worth,  and  he 
began  to  regard  him  with  admira- 
tion, on  account  of  his  piety,  his 
meekness,  and  his  compassion  for 
the  sick ;  the  consolat  on  which  h 
Iried  to  givr    Uiem,  rnJ  the  pious 


If 


B  B  M  J  A  M  I  N  . 


ioa 


•xhortations  with  which  he  address- 
ee) them.     Then  how  fervently  did 
he  pray  for  the  departing  soul,  and 
how  watchful  was  his  care  for  the 
salvaiion  of  souls,  and  for  the  cure 
or  relief  of   hodily   suffering  i     All 
this  caused  the  doctor  to  take  a  pe- 
culiar interest  in  the  generous  youth 
who  thus  voluntarily,  and  from  a 
purely    religious    motive,    exposed 
hiiusrlf  to  constjintly-increasing  dan- 
ger.    It  was  something  new  for  him 
to  see  such  a  self-sacrificing  spirit 
actuating  one  so   young;  to  see  a 
mere  boy  manifesting  day  after  day 
a  charity  which  knew  no  hounds ; 
ft    moral    courage    wliich    nothi""» 
rould  subdue.     No!  neither  the sig 
of  the  most  fearful   human  suffer- 
ing, nor  the   horrible  spectacle  of 
hido'Mis  corpses  every  where  seen. 
Yes !  it  was  a  boy — little  more  than 


t 


1^ 


ill 


lil 


196 


BENJAMIN 


a  child  who  exhibited  this  devoled- 
ness,  this  firmness  of  principle,  nt  a 
time,  too,  when  the  stoutest   hear* 
might  well  have  quailed,  and  shrunk 
from  doing  what  he  did  !— Yes !  he 
was  but  a  boy,  but  in  what  school 
had  he  learned  that  sublime  devo- 
tion'?    Whence  had  he  derived  so 
many  and  such  rare  virtues? — Truly 
these  were  but  the  natural  results  of 
the  Christian  education  he  had  re- 
ceived.    In  virtuous  souls,  religion 
calls  forth  all  noble  sentiments  and 
inspires  the  loftiest  and  most  heroic 
devotion.      The   mass  of   mankina 
cannot,  and  will  not  understand  this, 
but  the  virtuous  man  both  under- 
stands and  imitates  it.     Dr.  Dubac 
fully  appreciated    Benjamin's  good 
qualities,  and  ever  after  he  treated 
him  as  his  own  son.    He  called  him 


BEITJAMIN. 


101 


his  young  assistant,  and  in  fact  Ben- 
jamin was  becoming  a  doctor,  urged 
on  by   circumstances,   and    by   Ins 
great  compassion  for  the  sulVerings 
of   his   fellow-creatures.      Nor   was 
his  want  of  medical  knowledge  any 
drawback  on  liis  usefulness,  for  the 
scourge  which  was  then  sweeping 
away  the   hum.-in   race  in  myriads 
was  entirely  unknown  to  the  faculty, 
who   understood   neidier   its   origin 
nor  the  proper  treatment  which  it 
required.     Science  confessed  its  ut- 
ter inability  to  check,  or  even  to  un- 
derstand the  disease,  which  contin- 
ued to  sweep  away  millions  of  the 
human  race  in  every  land  without 
any  of  its  symptoms  being  marked 
or  identified— strange  and  myste- 
rious pestilence ! 
One  day  Benjamin  had  gone  out, 


I 


1 


%\ 


hi 


f'f 


t 


198 


BENJAMIN. 


according  to  custom,  with  Dr.  Dubuc. 
Having  visited  a  great  number  of 
patients,  the  pair  were  returning 
home  to  get  some  refreshment,  when 
their  course  was  obstructed  by  a 
crowd  who  had  gathered  in  the  open 
street  around  a  nmn  who  had  just 
been  attacked  by  the  fatal  disease. 
The  physician  made  himself  known, 
and  the  crowd  instantly  opened  to 
make  way  for  his  approach.  In  a  very 
few  moments  the  unfortunate  man 
reached  the  last  extremity,  and  there 
was  scarcely  lime,  it  would  appear 
to  convey  him  to  the  doctor's  house ; 
for,  as  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  place, 
no  one  else  would  consent  to  admit 
him.  It  was,  indeed,  a  pitiable  sight 
to  see  that  poor  man  struck  down  by 
iuch  a  frightful  malady,  far  aviay 
from  all  who  knew  him.    His  face 


gtmL 


BKKJ AMIK. 


199 


was  perfectly  livid,  his  skin  wrinkled 
and  sticking  to  his  bones,  his  eyes 
fixed  and  sunken  in  their  sockets, 
his  voice  husky  and  inarticulate,  and 
his  limbs  powerless  and  icy  cold. 

The  only  symptom  of  life  visible 
in  the  wretched  man  was  the  violent 
heaving  of  his  chest,  accompanied  by 
a  long-drawn  rattling  sound,  which 
seemed  the  harbinger  of  approaching 
dissolution.  Without  pulsation,  color, 
or  motion,  the  man  was  fearful  to 
look  upon,  and  his  sufferings  must 
have  boen  something  like  those  of 
the  damned,  wlio,  though  not  dead, 
cannot  yet  be  said  to  live. 

Such  being  the  unhappy  man's 
condition,  he  excited  far  more  horror 
than  compassion,  so  that  Dr.  Dubac's 
old  cook — the  only  one  of  his  ser- 
vants who  remained  'd  town — would 


900 


BX  5  J  A  M I N . 


net  go  near  him  on  any  account 
So  Benjamin,  who  was  always  ready 
for  any  work  of  charity,  was  obliged 
to  take  the  sick  man  in  charge.  He 
resolved  to  sit  up  all  night  with  him, 
provided  he  lived  so  long,  which, 
however,  did  not  seem  at  all  probable. 
But  though  Benjamin  had  very  little 
hope,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  save 
the  man's  life  if  it  were  possible.  He 
first  moistened  his  mouth  and  lips 
with  a  reviving  draught,  prepared  by 
the  doctor;  then  he  applied  warm 
cloths  to  his  stomach  and  chest,  in 
order  to  restore  circulation  ;  he  kept 
constantly  rubbing  his  legs  and  arms ; 
and,  in  short,  tried  every  imaginable 
means  to  bring  back  life.  And  then 
how  fervently  he  prayed  for  the 
poor  sufferer !  And  his  prayer  was 
beard.     Amongst  the  many  strange 


BENJAMIN. 


201 


freaks  of  this  most  mysterious  disease, 
are   the   sudden   clianges  which   it 
sometimes  undergoes— assuming  all 
at   once   a   favorable    aspect   when 
every  hope  had  vanished  ;  so.  justna 
the  day  was  dawning,  liie  tide  of  life 
was  seen  to  return,  faintly^  it  is  true, 
yet  very  perceptibly.  After  an  agony 
of  several  hoius,  nature  regained  the 
mastery,    and    the    patient    began 
visibly   to    improve.     It   wns    soon 
manifest  that  all  danger  was  over, 
but  there  remained  that  fearful  re- 
laxation of  the  whole  organic  system, 
which  usually  succeeds  a  violent  at- 
tack  of  cholera.     So   utterly  pros- 
trated was  the  "oor  man's  mind,  that 
he   could  not  collect    his  thoughts 
so  as  to  speak  half  a  dozen  worils 
connectedly.   Yet,  still  his  recovery 
was  pretty  certain,  for  it  'a  very 


11 


lis 


=il 


, 


■1 

■ 

^ 

[l 

; 

' 

IP 

!i 


202 


B  E  N.  ▲  M  I  N  . 


rarely,  indeed,  that  any  one  has  a 
relapse  after  that  disease.  Benjamio 
was  truly  delighted  at  this  unex- 
pected recovery,  for  he  began  to  feel 
much  interested  about  the  stranger. 
He  often  thought  how  afflicted  his 
family  would  have  been,  had  he  died 
at  that  time,  far  away  from  home, 
and  surrounded  only  by  strangers. 

The  doctor  had  prescriL  ed,  amongst 
other  things,  silence  and  repose ;  and 
his  directions  in  this  respect  were 
punctually  observed,  so  that  the 
patient  rapidly  recovered.  When 
he  l)egan  to  look  more  natural,  and 
had  nearly  lost  his  ghastly  appear- 
ance, the  doctor's  old  woman  volim- 
tecred  to  take  care  of  him  while 
Benjamin  went  with  her  master  as 
usual.  But  no  sooner  did  the  young 
assistant  reach  home  in  tlic  evening, 


B  «  N  J  A  M  1  ^  . 


203 


than  he  ran  to  resume  liis  station  by 
tlie  sick-bed,  and  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed his  kind  attention  to  the  invahd. 
He  even  had  his  bed  removed  to  the 
sick-room,  so  as  to  be  at  hand  during 
the  night.  In  short,  no  child  could 
have  done  more  for  a  beloved  parent, 
than  Benjamin  did  for  that  pool 
itranger. 


:|«!ii 


tl 


J 


■I 


CHAPTER    Xli. 

Nearly  a  fortnight  had  passed  in 
this  way,  when  the  invalid  was  found 
80  much  improved  that  he  was  al- 
lowed to  have  a  change  of  diet,  and 
as  much  as  he  would  eat.  He  was 
also  permitted  to  sit  up  a  few  hours 
every  day,  and  to  converse  a  little, 
•0  as  he  did  not  go  too  far  with  it. 
It  was  then  that  he  attempted  to 
express  his  gratitude  to  Benjamin, 
whose  generous  devotion  he  could 
never  sufficiently  admire,  and   he 


BENJAMIN. 


206 


11 


could  think  or  speak  of  nothing  else. 
To  his  ardent  thanks  and  blessings, 
the  youth  always  replied  with  a  be- 
nign smile :  "  After  all,  what  great 
thing  have  I  done?     Why,  I  have 
simply  fulfilled    the    precept:    Do 
unto  others  as  you  would  that  they 
shoulC,  do  unto  you.     Would   you 
not  have  done  as  much  for  me?" 
and  then  he  would  quickly  cliange 
the  conversation,  in  order  to  escai)e 
thanks  and  praises,  though  in  tiiis 
he  could  not  always  succeed.     In 
the  course  of  his  tedious  convales- 
xxnce,  the  stranger  and  his  young 
benefactor    became    very    intimate 
friends,  and  Benjamin  was  not  long 
till  he  knew  all  about  the  family  of 
his  new  acquaintance. 

The  stranger,  now  perfectly  re- 
covered, was  very  soon  to  resume 
the  journey  so  fearfully  interrupted 


I 


206 


BENJAMIN. 


If 


He  was  speaking  to  Benjamin  of  the 
happiness  which  he  expected  to  en- 
joy when  lie  reached  his  family, 
whom  he  ardently  longed  to  see. 
"  And  I  will  speak  to  them  of  you, 
my  young  friend,"  he  added,  "  1 
shall  tell  them  that,  under  God,  they 
are  indebted  to  you  for  my  life.  My 
wife  will  bless  you,  for  she  is  good 
and  affectionate,  and  my  son  shall 
love  you  as  a  brother.  Ah !  if  he 
resembled  you  with  what  delight 
would  I  embrace  him,  after  so  long 
an  absence ! " 

"So  then  you  have  been  long 
separated  from  your  family  ! " 

"  Alas !  it  is  almost  ten  years  since 
I  saw  either  my  wife  or  son,"  re- 
turned the  stranger,  "and  my  boy 
was  then  very  young,  for  he  was 
scarcely  four  years  old.  I  am  afraid 
be  will  not  be  able  to  recognize  me, 


B  E  N  .1  A  M  I  N 


201 


DOW,  cspccinlly  as  I  was  believed  to 
be  dead." 

These  words  made  Benjamin's 
heart  llirill :  his  own  position  was  so 
iniicli  hke  that  of  the  stranger's  son, 
and  he  was  just  the  age  mentioned 
when  deprived  of  his  father,  as  he 
beheved  for  ever.  The  pitiless  sea 
had  engulfsd  his  beloved  father,  and 
he  had  never  dared  to  ^ope  that  he 
might  still  be  hving.  Yet  still  he 
was  startled  and  agitated  by  wlial 
he  had  just  heard.  "  They  believed 
you  dead ! "  he  repeated  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "  Oh  !  how  great  will 
be  their  joy  when  they  find  you  still 
alive?  What  would  I  give  to  have 
my   poor    father    thus    restored    to 

me !" 

"  Have  you,  then,  lost  your  fath- 
er?" inquired  t!ie  stranger  tenderly. 

"Alas!  yes,"   replied    Benjam'U 


I 


. 


ii 
I 


m 


308 


B  E  N  J  A  M  I  5  . 


«orrovrfiilly,  "  I  lost  him  when  1 
was  hut  four  ycnrs  old.  Ht;  sacri- 
ficed himself  for  my  mother  and  me 
— and  Oil !  what  a  good,  kind  fathci 
he  was ! " 

"  Why,  this  is  a  singular  coinci- 
dence!" exclaimed  the  stranger — 
quickly.  ^^  And  how  long  is  that 
ago]" 

"  Nearly  ten  years." 

"  Ten  years ! — And  you  are  then 
(burteen  years  of  age ! — It  is  truly 
marvellous  ! — If  it  were  in  St.  Brieuc 


now 


>» 


"  Why,  that  is  my  native  town !  ** 
cried  Benjamin. 

"  How  say  you  1 — St.  Brieuc  youi 
native  town ! — Greai  God !  can  you 


)) 


"  I  am  called  Benjamin." 
«<  What !-  Benjamin  Milon?" 
"Yes!" 


BENJAMIIV. 


209 


«*  M  V  8dn !— my  dear  son !  t  is  ihen 
you  who  have  suvtU  my  life  '.—come 
to  my  arms,  my  Benjamin !— child 
•0  tenderly  loved— but  now  the  glory 
and  pride  of  your  long  lost  father ! '' 
Benjamin  was  completely  siunned 
by  this  most  unexpected  discovery, 
but  he,  nevertheless,  had  the  pre- 
•ence  of  mind  to  ll»row  himself  into 
his  father's  outstretched  arms,  where 
he  wept  and  sobbed  lit  e  an  infant. 
It  would  be  diflicui*  to  describe  what 
Benjamin  thought,  and  how  he  felt, 
while  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  that 
father  whom  he  had  so  long  mourned 
as  dead.     But  our  young  readers  can 
easily  imagine  his  feelings,  if  they 
will   just  suppose  themselves  for  a 
moment  n  his  situation.     Certain  it 
is  that  no  earthly  happiness  could 
exceed  Benjamin's,  as  he  alternately 
laughed  and  wept,  and   kissed  his 


ii. 


ZIO 


B  E  K  J  A  M  I  n  . 


father,  and  tried  to  give  utterance  to 
his  joy  and  gratitude. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silent, 
because  unutterable  happiness,  Louis 
Milon  asked  for  his  wife,  and  was 
told  that  she  was  about  half  a  league 
rroni  Nantes,  at  the  doctor's  country- 
seat.  Benjamin  added  that  he  would 
go  immediately  to  her  with  the  hup  . 
py  tidings  of  his  fiither's  return. 
But  Louis  would  not  stay  behind, 
for  he  was  now  all  impatience  to 
behold  his  long-lost  wife.  Just  as 
this  was  agreed  upon,  Dr.  Dubac 
came  in,  and  was  delighted  to  hear 
of  the  discovery  just  made.  It  was 
then  arranged  that  all  three  of  thera 
were  to  drive  out  after  dinner  to  the 
country-house.  The  violence  of  the 
distemper  was  already  beginning  to 
abate,  so  ^.-  at  the  doctor  might  spare 
himself  a  few   lours  to  visit  his  fam- 


BENJAMIN. 


211 


ily.     They  all  set  out,  then,  in  the 
doctor's  carriage,  and  a  few  minutes 
brought   Louis   Milon   face  to  face 
with  his  faithful  wife.     But  Nicola, 
had  not  the   remotest  idea  of  who 
he  was,  so  much  was  he  changed  by 
time,  trouble,  and  his  recent  illness. 
The  news  was  broken  to  her  very 
gradually  and  with  the  utmost  pre- 
caution, lest  the  sudden  shock  might 
do  her  some  serious  injury.     But  at 
last  the  great  secret  was  revealed, 
and  Nicola,  her  eyes  raining  tears 
of  joy,  was   again   pressed  to   her 
husband's  heart.     What  an  affect- 
ing sight  it  was  to  see  them  meeting 
thus,  after  so  many  long  years  of 
separation.     In  fact   there  was  not 
one  of  the  spectators  who  could  re- 
frain  from  shedc'ing  tears  of  sym- 
pathetic joy.     Tiie  doctor  declared 
that  there  should  be  quite  a  grand 


i!m*. 


n^->   .-  -''"'"  '-r^T  ■•'■■■  J/ -i:-::*?^^?^-,-  m^Y.-i''<'~^ii 


■-:U.JV     -^■-     ^ 


?W 


1 


ii:? 


212 


BBNJAMIK. 


lllil 


celebration  of  the  event,  for  it  gave 
him  ahnost  as  much  pleasure  as  it 
did  any  of  the  parties  concerned. 
It  is  always  useful  to  point  out  to  a 
young  family  the  viltimate  triumph 
of  virtue,  after  its  series  of  trials  and 
tribulations.  And  so  thought  the 
worthy  doctor,  who  instantly  gave 
orders  for  a  little  festival,  and  the 
evening  passed  away  pleasantly  and 
swiftly. 

VV^Iien  night  came  on,  the  whole 
family  gathered  around  Louis  Milon, 
to  hoar  the  recital  of  his  adventures 
during  the  ten  years  of  his  absence. 
This  narrative  had  purposely  been 
postponed  till  the  doctor's  return 
frotn  the  town,  whither  he  had  been 
obliged  to  go,  early  in  the  evening. 
The  little  circle  being  all  seated  in 
silent  expectation,  Louis  Milon  be- 
gan liis  story. 


r 


CHAPTER    Xin. 

atotttos  of  lonis  3\l\\n. 

Seduced  by  the  brilliant  liopei 
held  out  to  tempt  n)e,  I  consented, 
though  very  reluctantly,  to  leave  my 
wife  and  child  for  a  time,  firmly 
believing  tliat  I  could  thereby  secure 
to  them  an  easy  competence.  This 
ambition  was,  I  trust,  excusable; 
bm,  unfortimately,  I  had  not  taken 
time  to  reflect  on  the  clmnces  of  so 
hazardous  ar  undertaking.  I  never 
thought  of  the   dangers   I   had  to 


■■w-.-  -x.'^-iaifti.V:-- 


*  li 

I  ll 


214 


BKNJAMIN, 


i:'tr 


m 


encounter  when  venti  ring  on  the 
stormy  sea;  alas!  I  was  too  soon 
reminded  of  them. 

We  '  ad  not  sailed  one  hundred 
leagues  on  mid-sea,  and  our  ship  was 
violently  driven  over  the  billows  in 
a  southern  direction  by  the  force  of 
a  strong  wind,  when  we  'were  dis- 
covered by  a  brigantine,  who  darted 
after  us  with  the  rapidity  of  a  bird 
pursuing  its  prey.     From  that  mo- 
ment my  heart  sank,  and  I  began  to 
have   many  sad  forebodings.     Our 
vessel  had  previously  sustained  con- 
siderable damage,  and  our  means  of 
defence  were  very  trifling,  so  that, 
if  once  we  came  to  an  engagement, 
we  had  little  or  no  chance  of  escape 
We  therefore  did  our  utmost  lo  avoid 
the  enemy,  but  she  was  a  nuich 
faster  sailer  than  our  craft,  and  very 
soon  came  up  with  us.     We  were 


B  E  N  J  A  M  r  H. 


210 


attacked,  and  captured,  just  as  we 
had  expected. 

What  a  niglit  was  that  which  fol- 
lowed the  taking  of  our  vessel! 
Sorrow  was  in  our  souls,  and  despair 
on  our  fnccs.  Fortune,  hopes,  and 
speculations,  all,  all  were  swept 
away,  leaving  us  utterly  destitute 
and  forlorn.  All  our  bright  dreams 
were  now  replaced  by  sad  reality; 
the  most  cruel  slavery,  without  one 
single  hope  of  escape.  And  then 
how  fearfully  was  our  silent  despon- 
dency contrasted  by  the  brutal  re- 
joicings and  vengeful  shouts  of  the 
conquerors.  We  were  very  soon 
loaded  with  chain*=^  and  flung  all 
together  into  the  where  we  re- 

mained until  our  a^nval  at  Takum- 
brit,  in  the  kingdom  of  Morocco. 

There  we  were  restored   to  the 
li^ht  of  day,  but  not  to  liberty,  and 


I 


•sfi 

111 


t16 


BENJAMIN. 


Hi 


we  were  compelled  to  slund  by  in 
silence  while  our  own  goods  were 
divided  amongst  our  brutal  conquer- 
ors. And  oil !  bow  bitter  were  our 
refl  ctions  as  we  looked  on !  Freedom, 
country,  home,  family,  and  wealth, 
all  were  lost  to  us.  Our  misfortune 
would  not  have  been  altogether  so 
grievous  had  we  been  |)ermitted  to 
remain  together,  but  even  tliat  sad 
privilej^c  of  mourning  and  suffering 
together,  was  cruelly  denied  us,  for 
we  were  publicly  sold  by  auction  in 
the  market-place. 

1  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  rich  pro- 
prietor, of  European  origin,  who  had 
abandoned  Christianity  to  become  a 
Mussulman,  and  he  was  the  most 
implacable  enemy  of  all  Christians. 
He  was  called  Roum-al-Maboulen, 
that  h  to  3ay,  the  Scourge  of  Roman 
Catholici  ;  and  well  did  he  deserve 


m 


±i 


BBNJAMIH. 


217 


the  name,  for,  thougli  he  trenU'd  all 
his  slaves  with  tlio  utmost  sr verity, 
yet  he  was  doubly  cruel  to  those  who 
professed  to  retain  the  faith  of  their 
fathers,  and  would  not  give  up  the. 
religion  of  Christ  at  his  bidding. 
Many  of  these  unfortunate  creaturei 
were  at  length  forced  into  compli- 
ance, for  human  strength  coidd 
scarcely  resist  the  untiring  persecu- 
tion of  the  renegade.  Hence,  as  it 
was  through  fear  that  the  unhappy 
slaves  gave  up  their  reUgion,  the> 
made  very  bad  Mahometans,  but 
their  master  cared  nothing  abodi 
that.  His  only  object  was  to  lessen 
the  torments  of  his  own  conscience, 
by  inducing  others  to  follow  his  own 
example,  just  in  the  same  way  that 
the  devils  go  on  tempting  poor  souls, 
in  order  to  get  as  many  as  they  cai 
Co  share  their  eternal  misery. 


I 


* 


Ill 

r 


H^^^H  ' 

liv 

318 


U  EN J  ▲ Ul>. 


No  fate  can  be  more  wretched, 
liere  on  earth,  than  that  of  a  slave 
who  belongs  to  sucli  a  master ;  and, 
for  my  part,  I  was  almost  reduced  to 
despair.  I  was  ever  haunted  by  the 
cruel  thought  that  I  shouU  never 
again  see  my  wife  or  child,  and  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  describe  what  I 
suffered  in  my  mind.  Never  was  I 
again  to  behold  my  dear  Nicola,  or 
my  little  son,  whom  I  now  loved  a 
thousand  times  more  than  ever. 
These  sad  reflections  tore  my  very 
heart  asunder,  and  I  felt  as  though 
I  could  not  live,  with  such  a  pros- 
pect before  me." 

Here  Milon  was  interrupted  by 
Benjamin,  who,  urged  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse,  threw  himself  into 
his  arms,  and  clung  around  his  neck. 
For  a  moment,  the  father  and  son, 
clasped   each  other  in  a  fond  em- 


ik 


BBNJAMIN 


219 


brace,  as  though  fearful  of  being 
again  separated,  but  neither  could 
utter  a  word.  Every  one  present 
regarded  the  scene  with  the  deepest 
emotion. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  father !"  said  Ben- 
jamin at  last,  "  heaven  •  ould  not  do 
otherwise  than  restore  you  to  us  after 
so  many  trials  and  sufferings !  Jus- 
tice and  mercy  both  required  it ! " 

"  Yet,  with  all  my  confidence  in 
God,"  replied  Louis,  "  I  never  dared 
to  hope  for  that.  Tiie  gifts  of  God 
ore  all  gratuitous,  and  if  we  are  all 
called  to  suffer  for  him,  we  are  not 
all  worthy  of  being  rewarded.  A 
short  time  after  I  hud  been  sold,  my 
master  went  on  a  distant  voyage, 
and  I  was  one  of  the  slaves  wjjo  at- 
tended him.  He  was  going  to  bring 
home  his  daughter  Anelie,  who, 
iince  the  death  of  her  mother,  had 


*y- 


S£0 


li  K  N  .1  A  M  I  N  . 


Ml 

'I 


renittiiieti  at  1/li  with  lier  maternnl 
relations.  Izli  is  situated  al  some 
disuince  Iroin  Takumbrit,  in  tlie  in- 
terior of  ilic  kingdom,  between 
Ouchda  and  Tefera.  I  l»ad  thus  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  a  considerable 
portion  of  that  coimtry,  and  a  short 
account  of  what  I  saw  may,  per- 
haps, have  some  interest  for  you. 

"  Travehng  through  those  regions 
is  very  unsafe,  especially  at  night, 
unless  the  party  be  numerous  and 
well  armed,  so  as  to  keep  o(T  the 
Kabylas,  or  Bedouins,  by  whom  the 
country  is  infested.  These  bands  of 
marauders  are  lightly  armed,  and 
mounted  on  small  Arab  horses, 
which  fly  over  the  groimd  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  neither  the 
▼ast  sandy  plain,  nor  the  wooded 
hill  being  any  obstacle  to  them. 

"  The  inhabitants  of  the  country 


[L 


'-^ 


U  B  N  J  A  M  I  K  . 


331 


have  uotliing  to  dread  from  thoie 
robbers,  being  protected  by  their 
poverty ;  nay,  they  very  often  join 
them  in  their  attacks  on  travelerS| 
and  are  ahnost  sure  to  help  them  io 
any  imminent  danger,  thus  purchas- 
ing security  for  themselves  by  a 
crime  which  custom  has  deprived  of 
all  its  enormity  in  their  eyes. 

^^  The  soil  is  excellent,  and  the 
work  of  vegetation  goes  on  with 
astonishing  rapiiltty,  owing  to  the 
abundant  dews  which  fall  during  the 
night.  Nevertheless,  agriculture  is  so 
httle  attended  to,  that  the  only  pro- 
duce raised  in  that  fine  country  is 
some  grain  and  a  few  vegetables. 
Corn,  rice,  anJ  fruit  may  be  said 
to  be  the  whole  harvest  gathered 
in.  Rich  and  vast  meadows  are 
every  where  to  be  seen,  and  I  do  not 
know  that  I  have  ever  seen  gra-ss 


a 


t 


■  n 


Ill 


2:.,2 


BBK J  AM  1 V  . 


SO  high,  or  in  such  abundai.cc  a«  1 

did  there. 

"  I  must  own  that  my  recollection! 
of  that  journey  are  far  from  being 
unpleasant,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that,  if  my  mind  had  been  more  at 
ease,  I  should  have  enjoyed  it  very 
much.  When  at  noon,  the  heat  of 
the  sun  beca  iport{il)le,  Roum 

al-Alaboulen  i  'he  caravan  to 

halt  under  the  shaut  v..  a  grove,  con- 
sisting of  olive,  almond,  pomegra- 
nate, fig,  orange,  and  jujube  trees, 
whose  delicious   fruit   furnished   us 
with  plenty  of  moisture  for  our  sun 
parched  lips.     These  trees  are  not 
the   only  shade   which   greets   the 
traveler  in  Morocco ;  for  there,  as  in 
Europe,  we  occasionally  see  the  elm, 
the  ash,  the  cork-tree,  the  oak,  the 
poplar,  the  walnut-tree,  the  beach, 
the  chesnut-tree,  the  palm-tree,  and 


B  K  N  J   A  N  I  N 


'i23 


the  mulberry-tree.  In  the  great 
organization  of  the  world,  the  Cre- 
ator has  kept  up,  by  his  admirable 
foresight,  a  most  salutary  arrange. 
ment,  even  in  the  siiiallest  particu- 
lars. He  alone,  whose  voice  called 
the  universe  into  existence,  could 
foresee  and  establish  all  that  was 
necessary  for  the  prrservation  of 
his  creatures.  So  it  is,  that  where 
the  sun  shines  down  u  ith  fiery  heat 
on  a  parched  and  waterless  r^ion, 
we  find  numberless  trees  to  shade 
the  traveler  under  their  thick  foilage, 
and  to  quench  his  thirst  with  their 
ripe,  juicy  fruit.  Wheresoever  we 
go,  there  do  we  find  God,  in  his 
power  and  in  his  beneficence.  It  is 
his  goodness  that  brings  forth  from 
the  cultivated  field  the  wheat  where- 
with we  are  nourisheii  the  milk, 
the   wine,   and    the  watet,  which 


V  •TF-'T" 


^^ 


j    i 


BSl 


S24 


BVKJAMT1V. 


quench  our  thirst,  and  the  wool 
which  forms  our  garuients;  and  in 
the  desert  it  is  the  same  beneficent 
power  which  provides  cool  shades 
and  dehcious  fruits.  Ah  !  how  wor- 
thy He  is  of  all  our  love,  praise,  and 
homage,  for  ever  and  ever  I 

"  At  last  we  arrived  at  IzU,  and 
Roum-al-Alaboulen  once  more  eui- 
braced  his  daughter,  whom  lie  loved 
to   excess.     A   great    ban([uet   was 
given  by  Anelie's  friends,  in  honor 
of  her  father's  visit,  and  it  was  Ivept 
up  all  the  time  that  we  remained  at 
Izh.     This  gave  considerable  relief 
to   us  slaves,  for  we  were   treated 
somewhat  more  humanely  while  the 
festival  contimied.     In  order  to  save 
his  daughter  as  mucli  as  possible  of 
the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  our  mas- 
ter decided  on  having  her  carried  by 
two  of  us  in  a  sort  of  palarquin,  and 


BENJAMIN 


32a 


he  promised  their  freedom  to  th«  two 
slaves  who  should  hring  his  daughter 
safe  home.  The  clioice  was  left  lO 
the  young  lady  herself,  and  you  may 
all  imagine  how  ardently  each  of  ns 
wished  to  be  one  of  the  chosen  two. 

"  Such  was  our  frame  of  mind 
when  we  were  all  paraded  before 
Anelie,  and  how  great  was  my  joy 
when  she  pitched  on  me,  for  one. 
So  overpowering,  indeed,  were  my 
feelings,  that  I  actually  fell  to  the 
ground  insensible. 

"  Alas !  when  I  again  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  light,  that  gleam  of  hope 
had  vanished,  and  my  lot  was  dis- 
mal as  before. 

"  Roum-al-Alaboulen  had  never 
dreamed  that  Anelie  would  have 
chosen  me,  and  he  was  furious  that 
•he  had  done  so.  He  had  expected 
that  his  daughter  would  select  a  slave 


'M  It 


\:    i  :    :■-    il 


I'l;  -r 


226 


DEKJAMIN 


more  submissive   to   his  commandi 
than  I  was,  for  he  had  never  forgiven 
my  steadfast  attachment  tj  my  own 
faith.      He,   therefore,   t  iv  I   every 
means   to   induce    his  daughter   to 
make  dioice  of  another  whom   he 
pointed   out  as  being  more  worthy 
of  favor ;  but  whetlter  it  was  through 
childish  caprice,  pity,  sympathy,  or 
any  other  motive,  the  young  Uidy 
positively  declared  that  I  should  be 
one  of  the  two  bearers. 

"  Seeing  that  she  was  immovable 
in  her  resolution,  the  apostate  be- 
came perfectly  outrageous,  and  de- 
clared that  though  he  could  not 
refuse  his  daughter's  request,  yet  ber 
preference  should  not  benefit  my 
condition.  He  kept  his  word,  and 
another  slave  was  set  free  as  a  sub- 
•titute  for  me. 

"Ever  after,  the  renegade  could 


BENJAMIN. 


221 


not  bear  the  sight  of  me,  and  we  Jiad 
no  sooner  reached  Takiunbrit  than 
my  sufl'erings  began  again,  luid  lar 
worse  than  ever.  He  liad  deter- 
mined that  I  should  giv-  up  the 
Christian  I'ailh,  and  tiirov  Hims); 

veil  over  his  fierce  hatred  ^i  me,  he 
tried  his  best  arguments  and  mosi 
seducing  promises,  in  order  to  win 
me  over.  But  how  mucli  was  he 
mistiiken,  when  he  hoped  to  wean 
me  from  my  religion!— I  regarded 
the  man  with  iiorror,  and  became 
daily  more  attaclied  to  that  faith 
which  could  even  sweeten  the  bitter 
cup  of  my  captivity. 

At  length  when  Roum-al-Alabou- 
len  saw  that  he  could  not  prevail 
upon  me  to  give  up  my  faith,  and 
finding  that  neither  threats  nor  prom- 
ises could  affect  me,  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  that  ferocious  crueltv  which 


in 


4. 


'^'itS 


BBDJAMliK. 


was  a  pp't  of  his  nature.     I  was 
condemned  to  the  most  painful  and 
liumil-' --g  tasks,  having  for   food 
only  a  little  black  bread,  and  my 
drink  was  the  muddiest  and  most 
c  rrupt  water   that   could   be   had. 
Add   to  all  this  that  en  the  very 
slightest  pretence,  1  was  submitted 
to  the  most  excruciating  punishment 
that  could  be  devised.     The  malice 
of    Roum-al-Alaboulen   was    most 
fruitful  iu  inventing  tortures  for  me. 
Being  reduced  to  such  a  r^tiable 
state,  without  any  consolation  but 
my   God,  without    other    advocate 
than  my  own  conscience,  I  miist 
certainly  have  sunk  under  my  mis- 
fortunes had  it  not  been  for  the  ty- 
rant's little  daughter,  the  good  and 
fair  Anelie.     According  to  the  cus. 
torn  of  that  country,  where  the  wo- 
UPD  are  kept  as  slaves,  she  rarely 


BENJAMIN. 


^9 


left  the  house ;  but,  as  often  a»  she 
could   obtain    that  favor   from   her 
doting  father,  she  hastened  to  find 
me  out  and  do  every  thing  she  could 
to  alleviate  my  sufferings.     No  one 
suspected  her  of  having  any  partial- 
ity towards  me,  for  the  dear  child 
was  only  five  years  old  when  she 
came  to   Takumbrit.     Who,  then, 
could  have  expected  so  much  tender 
sympathy  from  such  a  child  as  that? 
But  so  it  was,  and  her  interest  in  me 
increased  with  her  years,  and  accord- 
ing as  my  sorrows  grew  heaviei,  so 
did    her    sympathy   become    more 
deep.     What  sweet  consolation  did 
I  receive  from  her — how  nmcli  as- 
sistance she  secretly  managed  to  pro- 
cure for  me,  and  how  many  torments 
did  she  contrive  to  avert  Aom  me ! — 
Truly  she  was  my  guardian  angel, 
nearly  always  invisible  to  my  eyei 


I  '1 


I  >J 


.1    t 


-I 

ml 

If; :  i 


230 


BENJAMIK. 


yet  oxvv  present    in   her    influenct 
and  tutelary  care. 

Years  passed  on,  and  every  yeai 
seemed  an  age  in  passing.     It  would 
seem  that  my  firmness  had  at  hist 
overcome  tlie  obdurate  animosity  of 
Roum-al-Alaboulen,  who  appeared 
to  forget  what  he  caUed   my  ()l)sti- 
nacy,  or  rather  he  grew  tired  of  per- 
secution which  he  had  so  long  tried 
in   vain.      The   true    motive  of  his 
conduct  was,  I  think,  the  fear  of 
advancing  age,  and  the  load  of  re- 
morse which  pressed  heavy  on  his 
soul.     His  mind  was  tortured  with 
fearful  forebodings,  and  superstitious 
fears,  and  he  could  think  of  nothing 
but  his  own  apostacy,  and  that  of 
•o  many  others    for  which  he  was 
accountable.     And   then   the   sight 
of  his  young  daughter,  pure  and  fair 
as  "jn  angel,  became  another  souictf 


BENJAMIN' 


231 


•f  torment  to    liis  wicIcIkhI   luind. 
Were  tliese  seciot  tortures    lie  en- 
dured, tliese  phantoiiis  of  guilt  and 
horror,  were  these  to  be  ll»e  lot  of 
that  beloved  cliild'?     Was  she  one 
day  to  curse  that  father  who  had 
trained  her  up  without  those  reli- 
gious  principles   which    secure    the 
mind  from  the  unutterable  misery 
he  had  so  long  borne?  was  she  to 
hate  that  father  who  had  from  her 
e&rliest  infancy   instilled    into    her 
mind  those  poisonous  doctrines  which 
destroy  the  soul,  by  first  corrupting 
it  and  then   casting  over  it  a  fatal 
blindness  which  is  to  continue   till 
the  awful  moment  when  the  light- 
ning  presence  of  the   Judge   shall 
reveal  the  foul  jiljysses  of  that  soul, 
and  it  shall  be  delivered  over  to  re- 
vengeful spirits  for  all  eternity'?— 
This    thought    was    insupportable. 


if 


282 


BENJAMIN 


He  could  resign  himself,  he  fancied, 
to  whatever  awaited  him,— but  hii 
daughter— his  beloved  Anelie  1— the 
object  of  his  tenderest  affection,  to 
expose  her  to  be  eternally  lost,  and 
to  curse  him  for  ever  and  ever  '.—oh 
horrible '.—most   hoirible!     Seizing 
his  daughter  in  his  arms,  he  looked 
at  her  with  an  almost  frenzied  eag- 
erness, and,  for  the  first  time,  the 
tears  rolled  from  his  eyes.     One  day 
he  summoned  me  to  his  presence. 
He  was  pale  and  haggard.  "  Slave '. " 
nud  he,  "  you  have  long  braved  my 
anger  and  revenge.     Your  courage 
and   constancy  displa>  an  elevated 
mind,  and  such  is  deserving  of  res- 
pect.    For  the  future  I  leo.ve  you 
unmolested.     But  now  that  I  have 
promised   this,  you   ne«      have   no 
more  fear,  so  I  command  you  to  tell 
me  your  r*^al  and  sincere  opinion 


J 


BBNJAMIV* 


233 


was  it  not  a  strange  infataation 
which  prompted  you  to  disobey  my 
ordersl" 

"My  lord!"  said  I,  "you  are 
greatly  mistaken.  I  have  only  re- 
fused to  obey  you  because  I  was  not 
at  liberty  to  do  what  you  command- 
ed. Heaven  ia  my  witness  that  1 
was  not  influenced  by  obstinacy  or 
Ul-will,  but  solely  by  a  sense  of 
duty." 

"Stop  there!"  cried  Roum-al- 
Alaboulen.  "Can  what  you  say 
be  true  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  it  was  for  the  sake  of  your  reli- 
gion that  you  endured  so  much  suf- 
fering without  a  murmur  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  I  replied. 
"My  suflerings  were  borne  for 
God's  sake,  and  I  trust  he  will  re- 
ward me:  that  was  my  hope  and 
my  consolation." 


234 


BEITJAMIM. 


"  You  must  hate  me,  I  am  sure," 
observed  the  renegade. 

"Hate  you!"  said  i,  oh  no!— 
You  must  know  that  my  rehgion 
comuiands  the  forgiveness  of  inju- 
ries, and  that  hatred  can  never  find 
an  entrance  into  a  heart  devoted  to 
Godi  ana  submissive  to  His  holy 
will.  As  for  you,  my  lord!  you 
have  only  been  the  instrument  made 
use  of  for  my  sanctification." 

"True — most  true.     Now   hear 
me!— I  know  and  esteem  you.     1 
am  surrounded  by  slaves  who  have 
sacrificed  even  their  hopes  of  salva- 
tion to  please  me,  and  you  alone 
have  asserted  your  own  principles— 
you  alone  have  stood  forward,  an 
honest  man,  really  worthy  of  my 
confidence.     This  I  am  now  going 
to  give  you.     You  understand?— 
Will  you— can  you  be  my  friend  1" 


¥    I 


I 


BENJAMIN. 


236 


I 


Not  knowing  the  drift  of  tlu^se 
questions,  and  fearing  that  they 
might  possihly  he  meant  (o  ensnare 
me  in  some  way,  I  knew  not  what 
to  think,  hut  I  quickly  answered: 
"  My  lord  !  any  tiling  that  I  can  do 
to  serve  you,  without  infringing  on 
my  duty  as  a  Christian,  I  will  will- 
ingly do.  You  luay  trust  me  for 
life  or  death." 

"I  will  then — even  for  death,'' 
■aid  the  renegade  with  much  so- 
lemnity. '*Sit  down  ther-  and 
listen  to  me! — I  have  ahandoned 
the  faith  in  which  I  was  brought  up. 
and  I  have  denied  the  God  of  my 
youth,  but  my  crime  has  not  gone 
unpunished.  I  have  had  wealth  io 
abundance,  I  have  enjoyed  all  earth- 
ly pleasure,  and  have  had  a  long 
ruD  of  prosperity, — in  short,  I  have 
had  all  tha  man  covets  here  below, 


186 


BKN  J  AM  I  N. 


hi 


but  all  could  not  recompense  me  foi 
what   I  had  voluntarily   lost.     My 
mouth  blasphemed  the  Lord,  but  he 
was  still  in  my  heart,  and  I  could 
not  get  him  expelled,  at  least  the 
continual  remembrance  of  Him  pur- 
sued  me   wheresoever   I   went;   it 
embittered  all  my  pleasures,  disturb- 
ed me  in  my  sleep,  and  enveloped 
me  in  a  gloomy  and  impenetrable 
veil  which  shut  out  from  me  all  the 
happiness  of  this  world.     Then,  then 
did  I  curse  God,  that  tyrant  God  who 
thus  mercilessly  persecuted  me.     I 
Bwore  an  eternal  enmity  against  all 
who  honored   his  name,  and   you 
know  how  well  I  have   kept  my 
word.     I  wanted  to  give  Him  hatred 
for  hatred.     Senseless  project !  vain 
and  silly  presumption!     Impotent 
fiiry!    How  dearly  did  I  pay   for 
having  dared  to  conceive  such  • 


B  K  N  J  A  M  T  M 


'4.   . 


purpose  !  liell   itself  took   possession 
of  my  heart.     I  luive  liv<d  tlie  one 
my  of  your  God,  and  such  I  must 
die,  hut  my  daughter— njy  tender, 
gentle  Anelie,  whose   happiness  is 
so  dear  to  me  that  I  would  purchase 
it  for  her  with  my  heart's  blood— my 
daughter— so  young— so  lovely — so 
innocent— must  she,  too,  be  a  prey 
to  the  wrath  of  this  terrible  God  *?— 
Is  he  to  revenge  on  her  the  crimes 
of  her  father?     Would  he  have  the 
cnielty  to  condemn  a  creature  so 
pure  to  a  life  of  endless  misery  1— 
Ah!  rather  let  him  take  Anelie— 
let  her  be  a  Christian,  if  he  wills  it, 
so  that  she  may  be  tranquil   and 
happy !    Yes,  since  he  has  overcome 
my  pride,  let  him  have  the  glory  of 
gaining  my  child,  for  I  freely  give 
'  her  to  him !— My  fortune  is  all  made 
available,  so  when  I  am  no  more, 


ij 


238 


BENJAMIN. 


you  will  take  it  and  my  daughter 
under  your  care.  I  confide  in  youi 
honor  and  honesty,  and  you  shall 
answer  to  me  at  the  last  day  for  the 
trust  I  now  repose  in  you  '.—Swear 
it  to  me  on  this  book  which  contains 
your  creed,  and  in  the  presence  of 
your  God!" 

"  When  I  had  taken  the  oath,  the 
old  renegade  sent  for  Anelie,  and 
gave  her  solemnly  into  my  care,  re- 
questing me  to  make  Iut  acquainted 
with  the  truths  of  religion.     But  in 
vain  did  I  try  to  move  himself  to 
repentance,  and  to  infuse  some  hope 
into  his  mind,— he  died,  and  would 
not  listen  to  a  word,  rejecting  with 
contempt  the  possibility  of  averting 
the  wrath  of  God.     What  a  fearful 
death  '.—What  a  dread  example  for 
those  who  Uy  to  live  independent  • 


BENJAMIN 


239 


of  God  and  in  defiiince  of  his  holy 
law! 

"  As  soon  as  the  unhappy  man  was 
dead,  1  took  care  to  execute  his  last 
wishes.  I  embarked  with  Anelie, 
and  her  fortune  in  bank  bills.  Our 
voyage  was  pros[)erous,  and  we 
landed  in  this  city  without  any  ad- 
verse occurrence.  I  placed  Anelie 
as  a  boarder  in  a  convent,  until  such 
time  as  she  could  learn  to  speak 
French  and  be  instructed  in  the 
mysteries  of  religion.  Having  dis- 
posed of  her  so  much  to  my  satisfar* 
tion,  I  was  preparing  to  set  out  for 
home,  when  I  was  seized  with  the 
cholera.    You  know  the  rest." 


t 


ohapter  xit. 

(CmtrlMnii. 

Louis  Milon's  recital  was  not 
only  interesting  to  his  own  family 
but  to  that  of  Dr.  Dubac.  Each 
admired  the  ways  in  which  divine 
Providence  rewards  and  consoles 
persecuted  innocence,  and  all  were 
impatient  for  the  morrow,  so  that 
they  might  see  Anelie,  whom  they 
already  loved  for  her  goodness,  and 
for  the  tender  compassion  she  had 
thown  towards  her  father's  slave. 


■   L 


::^ 


B  E  X  .1  A  M  I  N 


2^J 


while  her  own  situah'on  tended  to 
increase  their  interest  And  when 
they  saw  her,  they  all  loved  lier 
more  and  more,  for  it  was  impossible 
not  to  love  her,  she  was  so  pretty, 
so  mild,  and  so  affectionate !  She 
was  kindly  received  into  the  doctor's 
family,  and  very  soon  became  as 
one  of  its  members. 

Meanw'  some  months  had 
passed  a  i  and  the  cholera  had 
totally  dii  ^  ^  jared,  so  that  tlie  fam- 
ily returned  to  the  city.  Time  grad 
ually  effaced  the  remembrance  of 
those  sorrowful  days,  and  people 
were  again  occupied  with  the  pre- 
sent and  the  future.  Louis  Milon's 
return  had  necessarily  brought  about 
some  changes.  Nicola  could  no 
longer  remain  with  Madam  Dubac, 
for  her  husband  wanted  to  commence 
housekeeping    once    more.      Theo 


L 


242 


BENJAMIN. 


Benjamin  was  to  l)e  provided  foi 
and  the   doctor  was   most  anxious 
that    ho    should     study    medicine, 
benjamin's  own  inchnations  pointed 
in  the  same  direction,  and  lie  wished 
above  all  things  to  follow  that  pro- 
fession which  is  so  useful  to  man- 
kind.    The  means,  however,  were 
the  great   difficulty,  for   his  father 
had  returned  just  as  poor  as  he  left 
home,  and  Benjamin  could  not  pro- 
secute his  studies  without  considera- 
ble expense.     But  Heaven  provided 
the  means,  as  might  be  expected, 
from  Benjamin's  firm  confidence  in 
God.     Dr.   Dubac,   wlio   was  well 
acquainted  with  the  talents  and  vir- 
tues of  the  boy,  volunteered  to  bear 
half  the  expense  of  his  education, 
and    Mr.   Delor,  when   made    ac 
quainted  with  the  matter,  cheerftiUj 
undertook  to  pay  the  rest. 


B  B  H  J  A  M  r  N  . 


243 


He  was,  therefore,  sent  to  toUege, 
where,  in  the  course  of  four  or  five 
years  he  completed   his  studies,  so 
great  was  his  application.     In  the 
intervals  between  the  classes  he  still 
accompanied  the  doctor  in  his  visits 
to  the  hospitals,  where  he  gained 
much  practical  information.     Final- 
ly, he  set  out  for  Paris,  where  he 
attended  the  best  lectures  for  two 
years,  so  that,  at  twenty,  he  found 
himself  fully  capable  of  entering  on 
the  practice  of  his  profession.    Never 
once  during  those  seven  years  had 
he  acted  in  a  manner  unworthy  his 
character  as  a  Christian ;  never  had 
he  given  way  to  the  influence  of 
bad  example,  to  the  secret  prompt- 
ings  of   passion,  or    the    tempting 
allurements  of  pleasure.     Amid  alJ 
the  vices  of  his  fellow-students,  an 
the  numerous  snares  laid  for  inno 


=J 


I'' 


it  ' 

3-1 1 

4    i  ! 


244 


BSHJAMIH. 


cence  in  great  cities,  Benjamin  re. 
mained  faithful  to  the  first  lessons  he 
had  received  from  the  Brothers,  and 
knew  how  to  keep  aloof  from  the 
corruption  of  the  world.     His  faith 
remained  unshaken,  lively  and  per- 
fect; his  zeal  inspired  him  with  a 
love  for  all  practices  of  piety,  and 
of  Christian  charity.     Though   his 
lot  was  cast  amongst  vicious  young 
men  of  his  own  age,  yet  he  always 
preferred  and  sought  after  the  com- 
pany of  older,  and  wiser,  and  more 
virtuous  men.     The  former  he  tried 
to  improve  by  his  own  good  exam- 
ple, and  the  latter   he  imitated   in 
their  virtues,  always  taking  care  to 
keep  clear  of  tiie  two  extremes  nt/ie- 
ism  and  fanaticism.     In  short  Ben- 
jamin's conduct  was,  in  every  par- 
ticular, the  most  convincing  proof 


jiw 


BENJAMIN. 


245 


of  the  benign  intliu-nce  exercised 
over  tlie  wliole  life  by  ii  leligioUiJ 
education. 

Tlie  state  wliicli  he  had  embraced 
was  also  one  which  afforded  him 
many  opportunities  of  practising  vir- 
tue, and  even  attaining  perfection. 
It  afforded  him  frequent  occasions 
of  being  serviceable  to  his  fellow- 
creatures,  of  alleviating  their  sor- 
rows, and  relieving  their  suiferings, 
and  his  was  precisely  the  heart  to 
enjoy  all  this.  He  grew  up  to  man- 
hood respected  by  the  rich  and  be- 
loved by  the  poor,  while  the  extra- 
ordinary cures  which  he  performed 
from  time  to  time  establishetl  his 
professional  reputation  on  n  solid 
basis. 

It  was  then  that  he  became  the 
husband  of  the  fair  and  sweet  Ane* 


946 


BENJ  KMIV  . 


lie,  who  having  long  loved  him  as  a 
brother,  was  easily  persuaded  to  be- 
come  his  wife.  Their  marriage  waa 
blest  by  God,  and  they  lived  a  pat- 
tern of  virtue,  enjoying  as  much 
happiness  as  earth  can  afTord. 

Benjamin  never  failed  to  retain 
the  friendship  of  Brother  Angelus, 
with  whom  he  kept  up  an  uninter- 
rupted   correspondence,   which   v»e 
may  one  day  or  another  publish,  for 
the  edification  and  instruction  of  our 
young  readers.      They   will   there 
remark,  amongst  other  things  worthy 
of  notice,   one  great  truth   which 
these  pages  must  already  have  made 
apparent,  viz.    that  education  is  a 
fatal   weapon  directed  against  the 
well-being"  of  society,  and  an  ac- 
cursed boca  to  him  who  receives  it, 
if  it  be  not  based  on  religion,  whicb 


B  E  N'  .1  A  M  I  N 


247 


m  the  source — tlie  main-spring  of 
all  virtue,  and  the  enemy  of  all 
vice ;  condemning  all  human  frailty, 
teaching  us  to  suhdue  our  passions, 
making  the  path  of  duty  a  smooth 
and  pleasant  one,  and  the  only  road 
to  true  happiness,  even  here  below. 
This  simple  retlcction  serves  to  re- 
mind us  how  well  the  pious  instruct 
ors  of  our  hero,  thanks  to  their  ex- 
cellent method  of  teaching,  succeed- 
ed not  only  in  storing  his  mind  with 
that  useful  knowledge  which  embel- 
lishes life  and  affords  the  means  of 
working  a  way  through  the  world, 
but  also  in  giving  his  character  a 
proper  bent  and  changing  the  whole 
tendency  of  his  mind  and  heart. 
This  last  result,  much  more  difficult 
to  effect  than  the  other,  is  also  more 
important.    I  woMld,  therefore,  in 


>;.'tts(j<>     I 


t48 


0BH J  A  M I N . 


conclusion,  cull  the  attention  of  my 
young  readers  to  this  most  interest- 
ing point. 

Oh !  that  they  would,  like  Benja- 
min, fix  heart  and  soul  upon  reU- 
gion,  the  most  sacred  obiect  of  theii 
love  and  veneration !     The  practice 
of  virtue,  simplicity  of  iieart,  the 
correction  of  one's  own  faults,  and 
the   acquiring  of  all  those  precioiM 
virtues  which  endears  man  to  God, 
in  short  all  those  delights  and  con- 
Bolations  which  God,  in     is  good- 
ness, has  left  to  mankind   even  in 
the  lowest  grades  of   society ;    all 
these  are  surely  as  deserving  of  the 
student's  attention  as  the  mere  book- 
learning  for  which  he  goes  to  school. 
Let  them  no  longer  draw  a  line  of 
distinction  between  the  desire  of  ac- 
quiring knowledge  and  the  improv©" 


J 


BKirJAiiiir. 


241 


ment  of  their  mind  and  heart ;  be- 
tween the  love  of  human  learning 
and  that  of  Christian  virtue.  Then 
I  can  truly  promise  them  that  they 
shall  do  honor  to  their  friends  anc 
relations;  that  they  shall  be  th 
pride  and  glory  of  their  teacherHi 
and  the  objects  of  general  esteem 
and  respect  like  my  little  Pupil  of 
the  Christian  Brothers. 


J 


N 


XT™ 

i 


J 


